Compromising me
by Kitty Seton
Summary: John is a scholarship student. Sherlock is more intrigued than he'd like to admit, but then so is John. Eventual slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm hoping to make this into a multi-chapter story, but a reasonably small number of chapters. This is my first time writing in a fair few years, so constructive criticism is very, very much welcome. Enjoy, and if you don't please let me know why! ^^ (Oh and the title is stolen from William Beckett, fantastic song, do look it up)**

Sherlock strode into the room with signature disregard for those around him, settling onto a table of the least obnoxious students. In other words, the outcasts. He still found a fair amount of them stupid beyond redemption and unwilling to make any attempts to rectify it, but they were at least less arrogant than the majority of the school. Naturally Sherlock had as little to do with as many people as possible, and much to his delight passed generally unnoticed by most. At first there had been unwelcome interest, his brother had taken a different tact and it seemed it was expected he would follow in his footsteps. However, he wasn't interested in making useful contacts, in making 'friends' that could later be called upon for favours. If he needed information he could observe it from the clumsy actions of his fellow classmates, he failed to see what else he could possibly want with people. Mycroft had smiled knowingly when Sherlock told him as much in an infuriatingly superior manner and told him he would see, eventually. Sherlock told him he looked fatter.

Glancing around the room he felt the vague feeling of disgust tugging at his throat, they made him feel physically sick. Pointedly ignoring the expectant looks of the others on the table, probably waiting for him to make conversation, he set about examining the room. It was a sea of the same smirking faces, all trying to one-up the last elaborate account of summer antics. All but one face, looking more than a little lost and vaguely embarrassed. The shadow of a smile settled on Sherlock's face as he watched interestedly, obviously he had to be the scholarship student, that explained why he was embarrassed by the blatant boasting. By all accounts he was the closest thing the school had ever seen to normality, a combination of academic and sporting skills having secured him the scholarship.

Tearing his gaze away Sherlock stood up and walked out of the dining room and back to his room. After all, if he was going to avoid lessons all day he'd need supplies.

He gazed out at the forest that sprawled out beyond the school grounds, hidden behind a cluster of trees just beyond the rugby field. He mentally noted that he was at least 20 minutes late for biology, and the teacher no doubt knew exactly where he was. He scowled childishly to himself, it wouldn't be an issue if his teacher wasn't a complete dolt.

"Er, they sent me to look for you."

Sherlock turned to look at the intruder, intrigued to find the scholarship boy. He waited for the other to continue, not replying. "I'm John, you're Sherlock, aren't you? Unless I've got the wrong person, but I think I recognise you. We're in the same class, though I haven't actually seen you in any classes yet. Mind you, we've only had two. Um, yeah, well I'm supposed to bring you back."

"I'm not done yet." Sherlock replied sharply before taking a long drag of the cigarette in his hand.

"I can always say I got lost on the way here," John shrugged and replied good naturedly, "Not sure why he sent me off all people, send the new guy, that's logical."

"Johnson's halfway to senile, he probably didn't realise you're new."

Sherlock started when John laughed earnestly and nodded.

"He does look about as old as this school," he lowered his voice to a mutter Sherlock probably wasn't meant to hear, "Which would be quite a feat."

He spared the boy a glance, wondering if he had imagined the hint of bitterness and distaste in his comment.

"Why have you come to this school, the results aren't much better than other schools you could have chosen?" Sherlock asked, maintaining a level on disinterest.

John awkwardly looked out of the window avoiding eye contact,

"Well, mum thought it might by good. For, well-"

"Networking." The taller supplied humourlessly, "In which case you've chosen the wrong person to talk to."

"Good!" John replied with surprising enthusiasm, "I'm sick of talking to posh wankers."

Feeling a smile tugging at his lips Sherlock decided not to point that he probably would consider him fairly 'posh'.

"So am I." He cast an appalled glance back towards the school, accidentally blowing smoke in John's direction.

John coughed pointedly; more interested than surprised when the other didn't so much as throw him an apologetic smile.

"Not your sort of people then?"

Sherlock threw him a sharp look and muttered lowly,

"Arrogant idiots with their rotting minds."

Suspecting it wasn't really a reply to him, John dropped the subject and let them lapse into silence. He jumped when he noticed Sherlock extinguish his cigarette and glance to the shorter,

"Let's go, they'll be thinking I've murdered you."

John chuckled and followed the taller, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of his mind telling him that it was less of an offhand comment than the other meant it to seem.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello, super quick update for you! Please don't expect updates everyday in general, it just so happens that this was the first chapter I actually wrote ^^ Thank you very much for the reviews, and to everyone who added this to their fic alerts. Oh and a massive thank you to the person who favourited it :D Reviews are still very, very much welcome, please tell me what you do or do not like about it. Well, enjoy! **

John seemed amused by drama, he wasn't particularly adept at it, but he won the favour of the teacher by being willing to at least have a go at it. Sherlock nearly snorted when the smaller boy has to die, and fell over clutching his chest, one arm outstretched melodramatically. The teacher, however, applauded his efforts enthusiastically and told him to pair with Sherlock with the instructions to install some interest in the other.

John meandered over, giving him a typically good natured smile.

"Hi, alright?"

"Sterling performance." Sherlock half drawled, keeping a straight face for half a second before giving a ghost of smile in return.

"Brilliant, wasn't it?" John chuckled, "Alright, let's at least pretend to be doing something. I'll pretend to be dead, you can do the speech."

Sherlock cast him a critical eye, not even slightly fooled by his motives. Nonetheless he flung himself into the speech as the teacher approached to check on their work. John blinked up at the taller, he had not seen that coming. Of all the things he expected Sherlock to be good at, acting was not one of them. Satisfied that the teacher was no longer paying any attention to them he sat up,

"You're actually good at this!"

"Well thank you for sounding so surprised." Sherlock threw him a look of mock irritation.

"No, I mean, you could do this professionally."

"Not without being driven mad by boredom." He lightly replied, flicking through the play.

John shuffled back so he could lean against the wall,

"What do you want to do, when you leave?"

Sherlock pretty much had to stop himself from doing a double take; it was just polite conversation he reminded himself. He supposed that it wasn't something he was all that used to.

"I don't know, actually. I'd say detective but the police are incompetent, I don't want to get caught up in their idiocy."

John laughed,

"Don't you think everyone is an idiot?"

"More or less," Sherlock supplied instantly, "What about you? What you want to do I mean."

"I'm going to be a doctor, do something useful." John replied firmly, "What about your brother, what does he do?"

Sherlock tensed,

"How do you know I have a brother?"

"Oh, well some of the guys mentioned him."

He laughed shortly and humourlessly, of course 'the guys' would mention him. His brother was no more fond of most people than Sherlock was, but he was more willing to put up with them, and certainly better at charming them where it proved beneficial. He was exactly the kind of person the obnoxious, dull students attempted to cling to, hoping they could get dragged to the top with them. Thankfully Mycroft was adept in dealing with them and managed to keep more or less to himself, associating only with those he was likely to end up dealing with regularly in governmental positions.

"He works in the civil service," He answered shortly, "I don't plan to follow in his footsteps."

"Oh, right," John paused for a moment, his voice laced with confusion and slightly apologetic when he continued, "I didn't mean to, I don't know, offend you."

Sherlock stared blankly at the other for a moment before managing to respond,

"Right…it's fine."

They exchanged equally confused looks, then suddenly overcome by the absurdity of the almost silent argument they'd had burst into hushed giggles.

Caught up in his own thoughts (more Sherlock-centred than he'd like to admit), he got halfway to the dining hall before he realised someone was calling his name. He glanced back to see one of the boys he'd met on the first day, William, and gave a somewhat forced smile,

"Hey."

"Thought you were ignoring me there Johnny," The other smiled a shark-like smile and slung an arm around his shoulder as they continued walking, "See you're getting close to that fr-Holmes."

Something in his tone made John tense apprehensively, before he realised it he was replying,

"Nah, I was just being civil, no need to make enemies."

"Good man, best just keep your distance from that one, all the same."

John came to an abrupt stop, turning to the other and frowning,

"What do you mean, why?"

"Well, you know what they say," He gave him a pointed look, but seeing the others' blank expression continued with mock delicacy, "Let me put it this way, have you ever seen him so much as look at a girl? Beyond his freakish 'observing'?"

"No, not exactly, that doesn't really mean that much though, he could just be shy?" John replied, attempting to keep his tone light and offhand.

"Shy, him?" He gave a sharp humourless laugh, "Plus there are those rumours."

John blinked back at him,

"What rumours?"

"You haven't heard? Old news I suppose now. Ever wonder why everyone keeps away from him? Thing is, last year this guy overdosed, big investigation and his name gets dragged into it, apparently he was involved." William paused as if for dramatic effect, "Well no one really knows what happened, police dropped it for some reason."

John felt his stomach sink, his mind going oddly blank, as if refusing to acknowledge what he'd heard.

"Oh, right. Cheers, yeah, for letting me know. I'd better be careful." He weakly supplied, forcing on a dead smile and changing course, heading for his room.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello all, I think I'm doing pretty well with my updating :D Haven't actually started writing chapter 4 though, so it may take a while, depending on if I decide to do anything productive with my evening. I hate to sound whiny, but please, please review. It's not an ego thing, I swear, I really want some (constructive) criticism to work with ^^ anyway, enjoy, hopefully! **

John blankly stared at the ceiling, lying on his bed. He couldn't make any judgements, what did he know after all? All he was going on was the rumours of a boy who was less than fond of Sherlock to start with. Turning onto his side he gazed at his desk, trying to compose his thoughts. Traitorously, his mind refused to cooperate, throwing up vivid images of squalid rooms. He shuddered slightly, ignoring the vague question in the back of his mind as to why he actually cared so much.

"What do you mean, you didn't know that?"

"It's not important."

John stared disbelievingly at the other boy.

"No, really, how? How did you get through primary school?"

Sherlock glared at him as if he were being purposefully dull, rather than completely baffled.

"I temporarily learned it, I expect."

"But it's the solar system!" John protested a little too loudly, drawing the attention of the class. Both boys immediately pretended to be working, giving the perfect image of hardworking students. The teacher glanced suspiciously at them, and for a moment John had a sinking feeling that he was about to get moved away. He stopped writing mid-word, why did he even care about being near Sherlock? He half-heartedly shrugged off the thought and continued uneasily.

"It's important; I don't care what you say. I'm lending you a textbook, don't argue with me! You can get it tonight." John instructed once he was sure they were no longer the focus of anyone's attention.

Before John realised any great length of time had passed the bell was ringing and the class leaving. Sherlock sent him a minute smile before gathering his things into a bag and stalking off, probably to smoke, John noted with a roll of his eyes. Neatly placing his own belongings into his bag he wandered out of the classroom.

Sherlock stared at John's door for a moment, wishing he'd paid more attention to who else lived in the room. It didn't seem relevant, but really didn't have the energy to be dealing with complete morons. Gathering himself together he knocked on the door.

John opened the door and smiled, backing away to let the other in,

"Evening, don't worry, Pete went off to harass some unsuspecting person."

Sherlock frowned, the other sounded a little stiff. Wandering over to the two arm chairs facing a small coffee table, where had John had left the textbook waiting for him. He picked it up, idly flipping over to read the back,

"I'm still not acknowledging that I need to know about the solar system."

"Maybe not, but you need to pass exams at least." The smaller countered, walking over to join Sherlock, "Why don't you flick through it? You might need parts explaining since you apparently know literally nothing about the universe."

Sherlock scowled momentarily, settling into an armchair nonetheless,

"I know all the important things."

"All the important things?"

"More or less."

They settled into silence, Sherlock occasionally breaking the quiet to declare that a fact was completely irrelevant in any practical sense. John argued the point idly, dropping the subject whenever Sherlock seemed to be reaching a peak of frustration. They continued unspeaking until Sherlock piped up suddenly, John dropping his textbook in shock. Wincing he leant forwards to retrieve the book, glaring at the taller.

Ignoring his pain, Sherlock continued speaking,

"John, why did you speak to me? It's essential to my understanding of human behaviour."

John looked at him, amused by his need to justify everything he said as scientific and emotionless.

"What understanding of humans?" He muttered. Pausing for a moment he eventually replied,

"I dunno, you seemed…interesting I guess."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he examined the other suspiciously,

"I seemed interesting? Not weird?"

"Oh you seemed weird alright, completely mental in fact and you had that irritating superior look on your face." He replied with an unnervingly innocent smile.

"What superior look?"

"That one, but sort of less offended. Actually, it might just be your face, your face is superior."

Sherlock paused for a second,

"You might want to think over what you just said."

"What? Oh. Oh you know what I meant, I just meant you look superior, no, I mean…shut up." John took a moment to quietly huff, ignoring the others' smirk before shifting slightly in his chair.

Sherlock glanced up from his book,

"Alright, what is it?"

"What?" John asked, trying to seem innocent but merely seeming alarmed.

"You've been trying to ask me something for ten minutes now, what is it?"

John continued to shift uncomfortably for a few seconds before he took a deep breath.

The taller raised an eyebrow expectantly, vaguely alarmed by how worked up he seemed.

"I heard, I mean…do you…did you do drugs? I mean, there were rumours, about that guy, they said the police dropped the investigations." John trailed off, wishing he could take back his words; he wasn't sure he really wanted to know the truth after all.

Sherlock froze; he had known better but hoped all the same that somehow John wouldn't find out.

"No, I did, but not anymore. My brother intervened." He sharply replied, continuing at the others' enquiring gaze, "They stopped the investigations because there was nothing to find. He was careless, no one's fault but his own."

John didn't miss the bitterness in his tone,

"Oh, right. Well, good. He was right to, your brother I mean, he was right to intervene."

Sherlock gazed out the window and with a resentful smile replied,

"Was he? Smoking was the compromise, apparently. Hardly the same, not nearly as stimulating, not nearly enough to occupy my mind. I don't expect you to understand."

John fumbled with the pages of his textbook, not sure whether he should continue. Sherlock already seemed on edge, he didn't want to push him too far.

"Hey, Sherlock, you know, I mean, you're aware…You do know I'm straight right?"

Sherlock internally sighed, it was only a matter of time until something like that happened. Of course it was too much to expect John to be above the pressures of social expectations; he was just an ordinary person after all.

"It hadn't really occurred to me either way."

"You hadn't thought about it?" John frowned.

"It's irrelevant." Sherlock replied sharply.

"Right, it's just some guys said…well they said you were, they thought you were, well, gay." He fumbled over his words, ashamed or embarrassed by his words.

"And you're worried, worried I might fall madly in love with you? Or just scared I might ruin your budding friendship with all those useful contacts?" Sherlock bitterly replied, eyes cold as he swept towards the door, "Don't worry, I won't damage your reputation any further."

John watched as the taller disappeared down the corridor, overruling the desire to run after him and apologise. Ignoring the welling feeling of disappointment in himself he wandered into the bathroom, sternly telling the mirror it was probably for the best as he hollowly prepared for bed. He wasn't likely to do anything else useful with his night anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Another chapter! Because I decided not to do anything productive (depending on your point of view, this is sort of productive I suppose). Thank you reviewers and people that added it to their alert list ^^ Very, very much appreciated! I honestly don't know anymore about update times anymore becauseIhavenolife. Please review! It's hard to make improvements without feedback T_T (Again, thank you to people that took the time to review :D)**

Sherlock glared at the wall, as if it was somehow at fault. He needed to vent, badly, but he was all too aware that his favourite outlet had been vetoed. Yelling at no one in particular he strode out of the room, making a b-line towards the bottom end of the school fields. At least smoking would give him a minute rush, though nothing close to what he needed. Standing in the mist, unconsciously shivering he cursed his brother for interfering. After all, of all people he should have understood the most, and he probably had. He didn't show it though, he just repeating everything he already told him, said it wasn't acceptable and it had to stop. Apparently what Mycroft said was law. Sherlock bitterly chuckled to himself; he probably could make it law with the rate he was rising through the civil service, not that he'd started particularly low.

Growling with frustration he turned and glowered at the tree. Why couldn't people just understand, he needed an outlet? His mind didn't work like theirs did, he couldn't just stop thinking, it was constantly burning away uncontrollably. He couldn't be blamed for trying to find ways to rein it in, to give him some brief respite where his mind was bright, sharp and focused. His mind was a constant clutter of thoughts and information intertwining; forming observations that begged to jump off his tongue and soothe his disorganised head. If he plunged the needle into his veins, let the highly illegal substances course through his body for a time he could make everything so clear He could make the thoughts sit in the right order where everything made sense.

But no. Apparently it was wrong, for reasons he couldn't, and likely never would grasp. Sherlock was, however, all too aware of the ramifications. His brother would know, and he would not hesitate to drag him out of the school and keep him under constant surveillance. Mycroft called it caring, Sherlock called it controlling.

Back pressed to a tree trunk he slid down, sitting on the cold damp ground. Slowly and deeply he breathed in and out. In and out. Calming down he stubbed the burning remains of his cigarette on the ground, automatically reaching into his pocket to take out another. He'd got far too worked up for no reason. Why, because someone had met his exact expectations? He didn't understand but he knew how it worked, normal people were so concerned about what other excruciatingly dull people thought of them. So caught up in their concept of social norms they ignored what was all around them, lied and deceived themselves in the hope that a near stranger might approve of them.

His stomach lurched when it finally occurred to him; he had got so upset because he had thought John was different. For one foolish moment he thought he had found someone less infuriatingly stupid. Half in daze, he pushed up off the ground and slowly headed back towards the main building.

Sherlock dragged himself towards the biology classroom with even less enthusiasm than usual. It was when he walked into the room that his stomach sank as he noticed the seat next to his. One of the quieter students with a talent for the subject occupied the seat, too absorbed in his reading to even notice Sherlock sit down beside him. He glanced over the room, reminding himself that he didn't care what John was doing with who, why should he? He was simply observing, he was always observing. If he was just an ordinary person then that meant he was another case study for average human behaviour. With a jolt he spotted the shorter boy in the corner of the room in the midsection of desks, with the same group of males he'd admitted to finding completely repulsive.

He gave a lack-lustre sneer, so he really was just looking for connections after all, no wonder he wanted nothing to do with someone that had such a ruined reputation. He opened his mouth to mutter a mocking comment to himself but found the words stuck in his throat, burning where they were trapped.

He laughed lowly and resentfully, what a time for 'emotions' to start interfering with logic. Over such a common, ordinary person.

John glanced back, as casually as possible. It wasn't that we wanted to see Sherlock, he just wanted to see if he was showing any smallest sign of remorse. He ignored the sinking feeling of disappointment, he should have expected as much, and turned back around to his so-called friends. John sincerely doubted any of them would hesitate for even a second to betray him if it would further them in some way. But then, he reminded himself, he'd thought Sherlock was, not trustworthy exactly but honest and he had betrayed him. He felt anger rise up and glared resolutely at the board, for all his clever observations he'd failed to notice that John was not that kind of person. He didn't actually care what he'd done in the past, or what gender he was attracted to for that matter, he just wanted to know. He gave the males around him a sidelong look and frowned slightly, he doubted they were as indifferent as he was.

But if he really didn't care, why had he asked? John irritably swore at the voice in the back of his mind and tried to turn his focus to the textbook page in front of him; no doubt his new friends would be waiting for him to come up with the answers in a moment.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Guys! This months' hits reached over a thousand, so I'm super happy :D Yes yes, I know that doesn't anyone actually liked it =_=' Still, it put me in such a good mood I finished off this chapter and then planned out the next few. **

**Thank you reviewers and for adding to alerts/favourites. **

**As usual, I'm going to beg for reviews. I don't even know if you like the direction I'm going if you don't! Well, enjoy~**

John caught himself as he went to throw an irritated glance to the people approaching loudly down the main aisle of the library. Plastering on a friendly look he gave a half-wave.

"Evening Johnny, haven't seen you all day." William slid onto the tabletop across the aisle, smiling a smile that made the boy feel slightly nauseous, "Still in the library at this time?"

"Yeah, well work to do and stuff." John forced out in a reasonably pleasant tone.

"Why don't you join our little party tonight? It's just a casual gathering, for the boys to relax."

He wanted to reach over and pull his shark teeth out one by one, but reminding himself they were basically the only friends he had left instead replied,

"Maybe another time, I should finish this."

William looked back to his friends and laughed in a superior way that came so naturally to him,

"All work no play, you need to relax."

With a sinking feeling he realised that they probably weren't going to drop the matter. He almost silently groaned, running his hands quickly through his hair looked up with an obviously forced smile.

"Yeah, alright then you've probably got a point."

"Good man, bring Pete down later with you." William clapped him on the back and headed back towards the door with what he probably thought was a charming saunter.

John irritably slammed his textbook shut, ignoring the glares in his direction. He was in no mood to be dealing with them as it was. He'd been irritable all week, refusing to acknowledge the peculiar way his bad mood coincided with his argument with Sherlock. He internally sighed in defeat; he well and truly hated the idiots he was forced to surround himself with. Worryingly often he found himself musing over what Sherlock would be saying to their ridiculous conversations. How often was too often to think of a friend in a week? He jolted in his seat, what was he even thinking about? It was perfectly reasonable to think of a friend that he missed after all. Sighing softly he shoved his books indelicately into his bag and wandered back towards his room.

On his list of things that usually end badly, getting drunk was fairly high on the list. That didn't stop him, but he generally preferred to be around friends, rather than the collection of sharks grinning at him. Slumped against someone's bed frame, half empty bottle of vodka in one hand he squinted at the person opposite him.

"Just do us this favour."

"What?" He slurred, squinting again and trying to steady himself.

Opposite the male sighed impatiently and shot the others an irritated look.

"You and Holmes, you've got a rapport, so to speak. Well we just want to get in contact with his brother. You could set that up for us, couldn't you? All you have to do is get close to the fre- guy and help us out." He smiled encouraging, "It's just a small favour, we won't forget it."

John wasn't entirely sure he understood, but at the mention of Sherlock's name he found himself agreeing as he drifted off into sleep.

Sherlock frowned as he heard hushed voices drift down the field, clearly heading towards him. People didn't come down to that part of the field, it was the entire reason he spent so much time there. Quickly extinguishing his cigarette the male dipped behind one of the trees, carefully peering out at the group approaching. His confusion doubled as he noticed them carrying someone down.

"Careful, jesus! Don't wake him up."

"Don't speak so fucking loudly then, idiot."

"And who's idea was this?"

"Oh yeah, the brilliant plan to leave him at the bottom of the fucking field. Why are we doing this?"

"Because that freak is the first person down here, he'll find him first."

Sherlock had to fight the urge to walk out and punch the nearest person, not that he wasn't used to being called names. No, that wasn't the issue; it had just clicked who the person they were dumping was. He hadn't worked out why they would want him to find John, but that was besides the point for the time being.

Hearing them retreat he strode forwards, sinking down onto one knee to examine the boy, abandoned on the damp grass. He was clearly drunk, that much was obvious. Rolling his eyes he nudged the boy repeatedly until he began to stir.

"Sherly?"

"What?" Sherlock looked blankly at the boy giggling up at him.

"Hi!" John sat up, narrowly avoiding colliding with the other's head, "Where am I? I'm cold, and wet."

"Well yes, you're on the field. You would be."

"Why am I there?" He looked accusingly at Sherlock.

"I've a few ideas," He replied exasperatedly, "Come on, you should probably get inside."

John leant forwards, burying his head in Sherlock's chest, much to the taller boy's alarm, clinging to the lapels of his blazer.

"Carry me." He mumbled into his shirt.

"What? No. Get up." Seeing no movement whatsoever from John he sighed and pulled him away from him momentarily. He rolled his eyes at John's whine and flung the other's arm over his shoulder. Sliding an arm awkwardly around his waist, Sherlock heaved them both up.

Confident that he was no longer carrying all of the shorter boy's weight he led him back towards the school.

"Sherly…"

"Stop calling me that."

John pouted from where he lay, stretched out on Sherlock's bed.

"No need to be mean." He played with the edge of the duvet cover momentarily, "I missed you. You're really annoying…but kind of a good annoying."

Sherlock gave him a curious glance, before reminding himself that John was likely to say anything in his current state.

"Don't look at me like that," John whined, shoving his face in a pillow and continuing speaking.

"What? No, John, shut up. No, I mean I can't hear you, take your face out of the pillow."

"Oh, right. Sherly, you're really awesome. Not just scarily clever, you are, obviously…but you're funny too. And nice, very nice."

John rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Oh, um, thank you?" Sherlock looked at him confusedly from where he was standing, leaning against his desk.

"Plus you're hot. Shh, don't tell him, it's a secret."

If he didn't know better he'd have sworn his heart skipped a beat. Thanking several deities, who he knew didn't exist, that he didn't have a roommate he threw the other a scornful glance.

"Don't say things like that John. Now be quiet and go to sleep."

"Okie dokie…but just cause I'm not saying it doesn't mean I'm not thinking it." John wisely murmured before rolling back over and falling asleep.

The taller male sank into a chair with a groan. There was no way John would remember that in the morning, but equally there was no way Sherlock was going to forget. It had been a while since he'd had to deal with those kinds of emotions, and he really hadn't counted on it happening again. It was undeniable, he found the other attractive, more than that he found him interesting. He wasn't the same idiotic breed as most of the population of the school, he was genuinely intelligent and vaguely amusing. Glaring at the wall he attempted to calm down as he sternly reminded himself that John had told him only last week that he was straight.

Turning to look at the sleeping figure he sighed,

"Thank you John, you've complicated things magnificently."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I am so incredibly unsatisfied with this chapter, but I have no idea what to do with it so here you are =_=' Oh and I just realised last night that the line breaks weren't showing up properly to break up the chapters, becauseI'manidiot. I didn't even know you could edit on doc manager...hah...hah.  
**

**Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, thank you people who added this to their alerts, we reached over 20 alert peoples! :D **

**Please review, IhavenoideawhatI'mdoing. **

John mumbled incoherently into the pillow he'd apparently been drooling on before rolling over onto his back and sitting up. He had genuinely no idea where he was, it definitely wasn't his room. Glancing around the room as a vague sense of panic settled in him before he finally noticed Sherlock watching from the corner.  
"Morning."The taller said in an unnervingly neutral tone.  
"This is your room?"  
"No, I broke into someone else's and decided to wait around for the entire night." Sherlock replied dryly.  
John resisted the urge to roll his eyes, swinging his legs off the bed to perch on the edge,  
"Why am I here?"  
"You were left on the field."  
"What do you mean left?" John asked, though as he said it snippets of the previous night came back to him. He groaned and let his head drop into his hands, "Nevermind, I remember."

He could have sworn he saw Sherlock smile, but by the time he looked up the other's face was as blank as before. John internally slapped himself; he'd actually chosen those tossers over probably the most irritating but equally brilliant person he'd ever met. A small part of him panicked, that couldn't be a normal way to think of even ones closest friend, but a much larger part couldn't bring itself to be even slightly bothered. After all, Sherlock was hardly normal, why should he be normal about him?

He sighed softly and moved on from that confusing train of thought and tried to recall the events of last night. He could only remember small sections; he remembered the beginning of the night and waking on the field. Nauseous dread washed over him as he suddenly remembered stumbling into Sherlock's room, rambling at the taller. Eyes drawn to him, he recalled startlingly vividly telling Sherlock how clever he was, how annoying he was and fatally, how hot he was. John could feel the panic climbing up his throat, clawing mercilessly as it went. But then Sherlock hadn't really reacted, had he? He certainly didn't seem inclined to mention it now morning had dawned. Making an effort to calm his breathing John tried to think it through, surely he would have said something if he was going to by that point. More likely he took it as drunken ramblings, they didn't mean anything. Sherlock was more than a little clever; he would have worked that much out. John nodded minutely, ignoring the dull sense of disappointment settling in his stomach.

"Thank you," He suddenly piped up, "For letting me stay."  
Sherlock started at the sudden interruption of his thoughts and turned to look at the other,  
"Oh, um, it's fine."  
"Sorry. For being a twat generally." The words came out blurred together and barely comprehensible.  
"That's fine too."  
After a slightly awkward moment of silence Sherlock gave John a tiny smile. John smiled back.

* * *

John wandered down to breakfast later than usual; having taken care to make sure his roommate had left by the time he went back to his room. He would have loved to run into him, but he doubted he'd get away with punching him in the face. As he walked into the hall he noticed the same group of people he'd been sitting with for the past week, except that morning he had even less desire to sit with them than usual. Shooting them a pointedly disgusted look he walked over to where Sherlock was sitting, near the back with a few other people.

Sherlock didn't even look up when John sat down, in fact it took him several minutes to notice he'd even arrived, so absorbed was he in whatever he was reading. The other smiled amusedly, picking at his food.

"When did you get here?" Sherlock asked suddenly, making the shorter boy jump and nearly knock over his glass.  
Looking up with an expression of mock-irritation he replied,  
"About five minutes ago, don't mind me, wouldn't want to interrupt."  
"And yet you've become so adept at it." He retorted.  
John snorted somewhat inelegantly as he pushed his bowl away from himself.  
"It's nice to know you value my company."  
"Why of course, so much so I've stolen you away from your dear friends." An amused smile played on his lips as he nodded towards the boys who were trying to surreptitiously glance over.  
"What are they looking at?" He frowned, throwing them an annoyed look before turning back around.  
Sherlock shrugged offhandedly, though he had his suspicions.

* * *

Staring out of the library window, Sherlock sighed deeply. He was always so careful about people, getting to involved generally only meant trouble. Yet somehow before he'd realised it he'd got himself tangled up in someone's life, he cared a lot more than he'd like to admit. He chuckled grimly at the thought of what Mycroft's reaction would be to know he'd found himself a friend, and not even a useful one. It wasn't the way they were meant to work; the Holmes family was cold, unattached and ultimately hugely successful. Groaning quietly he slumped back in his chair, he didn't know what he was doing anymore. It was bizarre, the way everything was going along more or less in the same way it always did, but it seemed to him it had changed completely. He was probably getting too close, far too close. A friend he could deal with, but anything deeper was completely out of the question. He dropped his head heavily onto the desk, John's drunken words still circling round his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Guys! Over 2000 hits now, I'm pretty much delighted. I amused myself by reading the first authors note, where I said I wanted it to be a small number of chapters…it looks like there'll be about 20 chapters, and maybe a sequel. Oh, and plenty of drama to look forward to in the next chapter.**

**Thank you for reviewing, faving, alerting, just reading, it really, really does mean a lot! **

**Read away~ **

John was halfway to biology, running late and unfortunately rather hungry too, when he turned a corner, very nearly running straight into a man who seemed to be waiting there. Bringing himself to a halt he was about to apologise when the other spoke.

"Good morning, John."

"Good morning." He replied, manners kicking in automatically, "Sorry, who are you?"

The tall male gave him an irritatingly condescending smile and continued as if he hadn't heard him,

"I'd like to talk to you for a moment, don't worry about you teacher, I've already informed him as to where you are."

John had taken more or less an instant disliking to the man, probably largely due to the insufferably superior look on his face, with forced calmness he asked again,

"Who are you?"

"Mycroft Holmes," He supplied smoothly, "I've been informed you've fast become friends with my brother. Well isn't that nice?"

"Right, informed by who exactly?" John asked, mentally trying to figure out who would it could be. Though really, he supposed anyone with eyes was a suspect, it wasn't as if he'd thought there was a need to hide their friendship.

"Don't worry, just someone looking out for his best interests." Mycroft replied offhandedly.

"Which has anything to do with me how?" He said, impatience towards the older Holmes brother becoming apparent.

Mycroft gave a sigh deeply laced with what struck John as melodramatic concern,

"My brother doesn't have friends, John. Acquaintances perhaps but even they are in limited numbers. One has to wonder what your interest in him is."

John frowned,

"No, wait, what interest? I'm just friends with him."

"Son of an accountant, not badly off but certainly not at the average level of this school. Good academic performance, by all accounts a very promising student. And an aspiring Doctor, too. There are many schools you could have gained a scholarship to on the strengths of your sporting skills. Why this school then, John?"

He mentally groaned, it probably didn't look too good from that point of view,

"Sorry, I actually don't see what this has got to do with you. I'm sure your brother can pick his own friends."

"His past choices have not always proven to be particularly savoury." Mycroft drawled, "I'd like to keep him from repeating past mistakes, if possible."

"I'm some kind of dodgy person," John defended, "I'm not trying to drag him down or get anything out of him."

The taller raised an eyebrow.

"Not trying to get anything out of him? Interesting. You should go to your class now."

As John strode off down the corridor he heard Mycroft say,

"I'll be keeping an eye out, John Watson."

* * *

John walked into the classroom with a face like thunder; the teacher said nothing but waved him over to his seat. He sat down next to Sherlock, waiting for a chance to talk to him. The lesson reached a lull in activity, most students having finished their work taking the opportunity talk in slightly hushed tones.

"I ran into your brother." John lowly said, glancing sideways to see Sherlock's head snap up from his book.

"What? Where, what did he want? Why was he here?"

"Just down there," He nodded towards the corridor, "Wanted to know what I wanted with you actually. Seemed to think I was out to get something. Oh and he mentioned someone keeping an eye on you."

"Yes, of course he has someone watching me." Sherlock said dismissively, "I'm surprised he came all the way here just to harass you. He must think you're a threat to the family's reputation."

"Lovely." John replied, rolling his eyes, "Charm must be a family trait."

"Don't take it personally." Sherlock muttered.

"Actually, he mentioned something about your past friends, he didn't seem to approve of them."

Sherlock looked at him as if he were being completely stupid,

"I told you Mycroft was the one that interfered, when I was using cocaine. Of course he didn't approve of my…associates."

"Oh, right." John said awkwardly, turning back to his textbook. He noted Sherlock said 'using', typical arrogance from him, thinking it was something he controlled. He always seemed to think he had a perfect control over everything, irritatingly enough most of the time he actually did.

His thoughts were interrupted when the taller suddenly said,

"Ignore him, John. He has very little bearing on my life, certainly not my choice of friends."

"But he has done, before. I mean, you're obviously not friends with those people anymore. So he has." John pointed out, hoping the slight nervousness in his head didn't carry through to his voice.

"Not anymore." Sherlock said firmly.

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

"Good morning, Sherlock." Mycroft replied frustratingly calmly, "I was in the area of business, I thought I ought to drop in."

Sherlock rolled his eyes,

"You didn't come here to see me. Why do you feel the need to intimidate everyone I so much as look at? Really Mycroft, that level of interference isn't healthy."

"I hardly think you're in any position to lecture me on unhealthy habits. I didn't come here to intimidate him, I was merely ascertaining if he might have any, hidden motives shall we say." He smiled blithely.

"Stay away, Mycroft. Get a habit, or go see that girlfriend you appeared to have got yourself." Sherlock commented offhandedly.

"The shoes," he nodded in vague acknowledgement, "Almost right, but as ever slightly off, brother."

"Oh of course," he hissed, irritated, "Well there goes mummy's hope of grandchildren."

For a moment they stood with miniscule amused smiles like normal brothers.

"I mean it, Mycroft. Stop interfering."He said levelly, breaking the silence.

"I know caring is a foreign concept for you, Sherlock. But everyone has someone they want to keep safe." Smiling the ghost of a condescending smile, Mycroft turned and headed back towards the main entrance of the school.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I actually wasn't going to update today, but then I realised I'm busy tomorrow and I didn't want to keep this chapter waiting. Too much drama! :D **

**Thank you so much to my reviewer for the last chapter, most definitely made my day! ^^ Thank you to everyone else for faving, alerting and of course reading. **

**I am going to beg again, sorry. Please review, I reeeally want to know what you guys are thinking, as it is I'm mostly guessing with what I do next. Feedback would really be so much appreciated.**

**Well, enjoy the exciting development! Bwahaha~ **

* * *

Despite it being late October Sherlock still insisted on going outside at almost every given opportunity, safe from teacher's view. John took it as a small victory that he had, at the smaller boy's request, moved closer to the school, standing instead where a small wood encroached on the school's land. Shivering as leaves gently fell to the ground around them, John kicked a stone in the other's direction, grinning triumphantly as it collided with Sherlock's shin.

Turning to look at him with a half- hearted glare, Sherlock shook his head,

"You could've just stayed inside; I don't actually need a babysitter."

"I bed to differ," John replied, "You probably wouldn't go back inside."

"What makes you think I'm going to just because you're here?" Sherlock asked challengingly, a small smile creeping onto his face.

John paused to think for a moment, meandering in idle circles,

"Well, if you make me go back by myself, I could get murdered."

The other looked at him incredulously,

"It's exceedingly unlikely that anyone is going to try and attack you on the way back to the class."

"It could happen though, and then what would I do?"

"Defend yourself I imagine."

"I'm completely defenceless." John protested as he stopped wandering, standing a few metres away.

Sherlock nearly laughed, instead just giving him a sceptical look.

"You are not defenceless."

He was about to reply when he heard the sound of voices drifting towards them. He glanced to Sherlock, who shrugged unconcernedly, clearly not sharing John's sense of unease. Turning back around he tensed, seeing the same group of boys he'd have called friends three weeks ago.

"I'd like to speak to you, Johnny." William called over, infuriatingly nonchalant as ever.

"What do you want?"

"Why don't we go somewhere else?"

"Here is fine."

He looked slightly awkward for a moment, saying delicately,

"It's about our agreement."

John's mind went blank as he tried to think of what he could have possibly agreed to. Glancing to the right he noted Sherlock was looking irritatingly unsurprised, as if he knew exactly what was going on.

"What agreement?" He eventually half hissed.

"About…connections."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," John replied, "But I do not want anything to do with you, or your connections."

He was embarrassed, truthfully. Whatever he'd agreed to seemed to be confirming Sherlock's earliest suspicions.

William looked to be losing patience,

"You agreed to do us a favour, John, don't back out now."

He moved forwards, followed by his so called friends in a way that was probably meant to be intimidating. It struck John as a stupid kind of gesture; he sincerely doubted they would ever actually get their hands dirty.

"I'm not interested." He said flatly.

"Too late," William snarled, "You already said you would."

"And I'm sure I was completely in my right mind at the time." He retorted.

"I'm not going to let you get out of it that easily."

"I don't really see what you can do about it, I'm not willing to do whatever it is you want me to." John said in a tone of finality.

"Networking, Watson, how much do you care about the future?"

"Not enough to get close to people like you."

William looked for a moment like he was going to snap, instead calming down and adopting a sneering expression, hands in pockets.

"Never mind, looks like he's headed the same way as the freak over there, boys. Think of me, and this moment when you find yourself on the streets, where no one will stop to help you. I gave you such a good opportunity."

Sherlock was used to being doubted, in fact he had come to expect people generally sneering at him. From the look on John's face he wasn't quite so accustomed.

"What?" John asked darkly, the hint of a challenge not missed by the boy.

"You'll regret it, Watson. I could have helped you achieve good things, that freak will only drag you down to worthlessness like him. I hope you enjoy failure, you're going to be seeing a lot of it."

That was when John punched him, right in the jaw. Wincing slightly he examined his knuckles as the boy ran off, followed by his 'friends'.

"He's going to go tell a teacher."

John shrugged.

"You're going to get into trouble."

"It's fine, I'm good for the school's statistics, they won't actually throw me out," John replied in a more light hearted tone than he rightfully should have, "Besides, I've never caused any trouble before, I'll be alright."

"You've never fought before?" Sherlock asked, genuinely surprised.

"Of course I have, I've just never been caught before." He explained.

They exchanged amused smiles, quickly developing into laughter.

"Well, you can hardly claim to be defenceless anymore." Sherlock said as their laughter died down.

"No, I suppose not. Probably worth the sacrifice though, he's a complete arse.

"You shouldn't have hit him though." He pointed out.

John shrugged,

"I don't see why he should be allowed to get away with talking to people like that. I don't see why you let him get away with it, actually."

Sherlock looked over at John with a small smile,

"It's nothing unusual."

"Doesn't make it right." John countered with a determined look, not missing the fond look that crosses the other's face.

"It's fine."

"It's not thought. I mean, you know he's wrong, don't you?"

He frowned slightly,

"What?"

"What he said," John paused slightly, working up the courage to look up at Sherlock, a jolt of electricity coursing through him when he met the other's eyes, "You're not worthless."

"John…" Sherlock struggled to choose the right words, the ones that would make him see how much it meant. Yet all he could do was blink confusedly, he could practically feel the tension buzzing around them.

"You're actually sort of…amazing." He honestly didn't know where the words were coming from, they were all true, but it was as if his mind had independently taken control of his mouth.

They seemed to be unconsciously drifting together, either refusing or unable to break eye-contact.

And suddenly all John was aware of was Sherlock's lips on his, his hands automatically reaching up to tangle into the taller male's hair before he even knew he was responding. It was brilliant though, he wasn't going to deny it. Sherlock's arms snaked around his waist, hand firmly resting in the small of his back.

They sprang apart as they heard voices approaching once again. Sherlock glanced quickly at John, seeing his confused expression before teacher's descended, angrily pulling the two off towards one of the offices.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Oh my good god, writing this chapter was hard. I am completely shattered T_T I've had pretty much no sleep, but I decided to go ahead and write this anyway. The things I do for you guys. (I apologise if this is complete nonsense as a result though xD)**

**Thank you so much for the reviews! I do a happy dance when I get one. They've been super awesome and helpful ^^ Thanks to everyone who alerted, faved or read thus far :D **

**Read away~**

"Why the fuck did you do that?"

Sherlock looked at the other with wide eyes, standing outside the offices. The teachers had let them go with suitable punishments, leaving a very angry John Watson to deal with a very, very confused Holmes.

"What?" He managed to reply after a moments shocked silence, "You were hardly complaining."

"I was surprised!" John spluttered, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I think it's fairly clear what I was doing." He replied calmly.

The shorter's hand clenched, through gritted teeth saying,

"Alright then, what made you think that was ok?"

Sherlock tried to quickly to judge the situation, if he left without explaining John was likely to get resentful and might never give him another chance to explain. Then again, if he stayed he was likely to get hit and the other wouldn't get away with attacking two people in one day. Grimacing he gave him a sharp glare, ignoring the sinking feeling of regret as he turned on his heel and left. It wasn't what he wanted to do, not at all, but it was probably the better choice for the moment.

Halfway back to his room, Sherlock sank down against the wall, gazing up at the ceiling. Mycroft had told him he'd see what one could possibly want with people. God, he really hated it when his brother was right.

* * *

Simply put, John had been avoiding him. At first he'd tried to justify it to himself, it was nothing to do with their encounter; he definitely was not being a complete coward. No, he was just busy. Classes were the hardest, John found himself sitting next to people he hardly knew, awkwardly making new friends two months into the year. Thankfully Sherlock's attendance had been less than perfect to start with. He strongly suspected that the other was trying to avoiding him just as much as he was; a small part of him was slightly upset to think about it like that.

Head dropping onto his textbook, he resisted the urge to yell in the middle of the library. He hadn't been able to think straight ever since, he'd find himself finally settling down to do some work when a curly haired male would drift into his thoughts. It was confusing, part of him wanted to never see Sherlock again, so he could pretend nothing ever happened, that he'd never so much as met him. But then every time he saw him, his stomach made a traitorous lurch of nervousness and hopefulness rolled into one, and he watched with suppressed disappointment as the other swept by.

John was truthfully ashamed of how scared he'd become in the face of something he didn't know how to deal with. It was stupid really, and he knew full well he could just ring his sister, she could probably offer some help, without him having to give away too many details.

Not that he was going to do that, with typical stubbornness he was more likely to do absolutely nothing at all. He chuckled darkly; it was self-sabotage really in a way. As much as he'd tried to deny it, he knew exactly what he wanted to do, and that was to go find that stupidly tall boy and continue from where they left off, before all the shouting at least. But then that would mean dealing with some very serious issues that he did not need complicating his life.

* * *

Whatever John thought he was going through, it was about ten times worse for Sherlock. Alright, so he was dealing with sudden unexpected feelings for a boy, he was having to deal with some fairly complex issues. Sherlock was having to deal with feelings of any real kind for the first time. Gender was a non-issue, he knew full well what he found attractive, but he'd found it easy enough to push desires to the back of his mind and concentrate on more important things. This though, this wasn't just desires, it was emotions. He glared at the wall, how was he meant to deal with emotions? They were a default, a mistake ordinary, average people made. They complicated life; they made it hard to see things clearly and objectively. Groaning irritably he childishly threw a pillow over the room. Sherlock had never quite so acutely felt the need for something to distract him, not even in the moments when a thousand thoughts swirled round his head. This was worse, this was a burden he had no idea how to deal with.

A large part of him suspected that the intelligent thing to do would be to go talk to John, but then a much more convincing part kept replaying scenes from the week before. Over and over he saw John's furious face yelling at him. Besides which, he'd made it perfectly clear by his behaviour that he didn't want to see him. For a moment he considered talking to Mycroft, but resentment flooded his mind at the thought of his brother's sneering face, telling him he knew it would happen at some point. Besides, it seemed wrong to drag John into his twisted family's business; he didn't want his brother poisoning something that was supposed to be such a pure thing. Emotions, attraction, they were supposed to be joyful.

Sherlock smiled dryly at the wall, he knew better than that. No Holmes got to have pure and joyful feelings, let alone relationships.


	10. Chapter 10

**EDIT 13/6: A very helpful review pointed out how many mistakes there are in this chapter (which is quite embarrassing really), so here is the (hopefully) mistake free version ^^; Also, just to be a massive tease the next chapter has more drama! Yaaayyy drama! But it probably won't be up today x.x**

* * *

**A/N: I'm going to be a terrible author now and whine at you guys. I've had some fantastically helpful reviews, really, thank you so much to everyone who has left me advice ^^ But I could do with some more, becauseIamsoneedy. I just want to know your thoughts on this little fic of mine.**

**Well, on with the chapter, it was an annoying one to write because I lost the chapter plan for this one and the next chapter too -_-' irritating. **

**Enjoy!**

Sherlock was not amused. It was one of the few times he had decided to do the mature, responsible thing and the universe seemed to be working against him at every turn. He was going to talk to John, difficult a conversation though it might prove to be, but the world was refusing to give him any opportunity whatsoever. In all the lessons he'd actually turned up to John had managed to make himself busy in the minutes before the class started and sat on the other side of the room, effectively meaning there was no way he could get his attention without getting the entire room's too. He doubted talking to him in the middle of the dining hall was a particularly good idea, although the idea of there being witnesses was a slightly tempting one, and he certainly wasn't going to turn up at his room either.

He violently threw his cigarette stub over the fence the lined the school's grounds. He'd abandoned his usual hiding place, having discovered that the team had actually started playing rugby on the field. Instead Sherlock was concealed from the sight of teachers round the corner of the arts block, where it was unlikely anyone would pass by. It was freezing, predictably enough for November, and the light had started fading earlier and earlier. Sherlock appreciated the cover of darkness; it made his ventures out on the grounds a lot easier. He had watched as the sun slowly filtered down the sky, leaving streaks of colour as it went. It had reached the point where the sky was nearly black, save for a low sliver of orange and pink sinking below the horizon.

So caught up was he in admiring the effect the sun cast on the sky, Sherlock didn't hear a door open further down the building, or hear the drama teacher talking to a student. It was only when she sharply shouted that he snapped out of his private universe.

"Holmes!"

Internally he cursed at having let himself get distracted and walked towards the teacher, stomach sinking when he realised the student next to her was John.

"What are you doing out?"

He blanked, trying to think of some reasonable excuse he could be outside when John interrupted.

"He was waiting for me, sorry."

The teacher's expression visibly softened, she nodded curtly,

"Hurry along then boys, come inside too next time, Sherlock."

Sherlock mumbled something affirmative and quickly turned and followed John around the corner.

"Thank you." He said, not caring how obvious it was that he was desperate to talk to him.

John shrugged as he kept walking,

"It's fine."

"John," He said, more sharply than he'd intended. The other stopped and turned to look at him, clearly trying to look indifferent, but anxiety showing through nonetheless.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said, the words sitting unfamiliarly on his tongue, "I didn't mean to…surprise you."

"You've done more than that." John murmured, probably mostly to himself, "Do you know exactly how much you've done?"

"I probably do, in a way."

John looked at him sceptically,

"The impassive Holmes? I doubt it."

"That's my point," Sherlock said with a hint of desperation, he needed him to understand, "I don't do emotions, you know that. They just get in the way, and suddenly you've just shoved your way into my head and I can't get you out. If you're finding yourself reassessing your understanding of yourself, then yes, I understand. This is new for both of us."

He gave the taller a slightly bitter smile,

"Alright, so apparently you understand some of it. How is that supposed to help me exactly? In what way does it make it better?"

"I…don't know." He said slowly. Some part of him had expected John to forgive him, knowing it was affecting him just as badly.

John nodded slowly,

"Thought so. You told me you knew all the important things once. Don't know much about people though, do you?"

"They're not important. No, I don't mean it like that. Almost everyone here is unimportant, they don't matter to me." Sherlock struggled to explain, "And that's how it should be, it lets you see clearly without getting mixed up in emotions. Then suddenly you come along and I don't understand anymore, you don't make sense!"

"Well thanks," John replied, though there was a hint of humour in his voice, "You're not exactly straight-forward yourself. You're supposed to be the genius, come up with a solution."

John was surprising himself, it was like all his anger that had built up towards to the other was quietly dissipating, leaving him with just the underlying longing. He should have been angry still, refusing to listen to him and storming out. Under any other circumstances, with a different person, he was sure he would be. There was something pitiful about the confused boy standing in front of him, struggling through emotions like some small child unable to express themselves. It made him want to forget all the things that told him to walk away, to never speak to him again, and hold him until he calmed down. Until he could figure out what was going on, with both of them.  
"You're the normal one, you come up with the solution." Sherlock countered.

He knew full well what the normal solution was, but it was hardly a normal situation. But then things couldn't stay the way they were, both of them getting rapidly more confused, it just wouldn't end well. Certainly not with someone as unpredictable as Sherlock.

"Well, people usually…I don't know…date?" He felt awkward just saying it.

"Date?"

"Yes. Date."

"So…are you saying?"

John suddenly felt very flustered,

"No! Maybe? I don't know. I'm leaving now."

As he turned to leave the taller grabbed his wrist, turning him back around.

"That, um, would be the best idea. From a scientific point of view."

"I am not one of your experiments, thank you very much. They explode too often for my liking…"

Sherlock smiled slightly and nodded,

"I'll try not to blow you up. So, does this mean we're-"

Before he could finish John abruptly interrupted, embarrassment clear,

"Yes, yes, shut up now. I am actually leaving this time."

He was still confused, very much so, but he couldn't help but feel that it was at least a step in the right direction.


	11. Chapter 11

John was fairly sure he must have snapped and just gone insane; under no other circumstances would he have agreed to go on a date. With a boy. Not only that, but on a weekend when most of the school would be around the nearest town making the chances of them getting caught reasonably high. Sherlock had assured him the chances of them getting caught were actually quite low, besides which no one had any reason to think it was nothing more than friends wandering around town. John was suspicious, but had agreed nonetheless.

* * *

He hadn't been particularly surprised when Sherlock dragged him straight into a second-hand bookshop on the further side of town, forgetting all about courtesy faced with the promise of new materials.  
"I thought you already knew everything important," John asked as he idly flicked through an old copy of the Tempest. He sent the other a half-scowl as he peered over the shelf, exploiting his height advantage.  
"As far as I know, but how can I be sure until I check?" Sherlock pointed out as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, passing him a book about badgers.  
John stared uncomprehendingly at the book for a moment,  
"Does this have some hidden meaning I'm meant to figure out, or are you actually too lazy to put it back on the shelf yourself?"  
"Not lazy,busy." He replied absently, leafing through a book of botany.  
"Could have gone to a café, could have gone to the cinema," John rolled his eyes as he muttered, "No, that's far too normal and convenient for Sherlock."  
"Cafés are very public, too likely to run into someone at the cinema. You said you didn't want to be seen." Sherlock said in an almost expressionless voice, with an equally blank face.  
He was slightly taken aback, to say the least. It hadn't even occurred to him that the other might have considered his feelings at all and for a moment he considered apologising. He brushed aside the idea, it would probably just make the situation awkward anyway.  
"We passed a pretty small café back there," He nodded vaguely to left, "I don't think anyone is likely to go in there."  
"It does good coffee." Sherlock nodded.  
"It looked derelict." John replied suspiciously, not entirely sure he trusted Sherlock's definition of good, regardless of what it was about.  
The other gave him a scathing look, though John was fairly sure it was in jest. Holding up his hands in defeat he sighed,  
"Fine, but if I get food poisoning I am going to decapitate you."  
"Food poisoning from a coffee? Are you sure you should be a doctor?"  
John glared at him as he paid for the books he'd selected. Sherlock smiled amusedly, and against his will he found himself smiling too as they left the shop and headed towards the café.

* * *

The coffee shop was almost completely empty, with only one other solitary customer sitting unsociably in the corner. Settling down at a table by the window, they glanced over the menu before an incredibly bored looking waitress sidled up to the table, giving Sherlock a slightly hopeful look before glancing at John. He didn't think he was imagining the look of distaste on her face as she turned to him,  
"What would you like?"  
"Coffee, please." He gave a tiny smile, but seeing that it didn't even slightly soften her expression dropped the smile.  
"She's not usually that…abrupt." Sherlock said with confusion, obviously she'd upset his profile of normal human behaviour.  
John shook his head disbelievingly,

"You really are completely oblivious."

Clearly, he'd taken it the wrong way, looking affronted as he replied,

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she was obviously interested. In you."  
He regretted saying anything when a slightly smug look snuck its way onto Sherlock's face.  
"Which bothers you because?"

"It doesn't! I was just saying!" John replied, though he suspected he sounded completely in denial.

Sherlock nodded mock-sympathetically,

"Of course not. I just hope you know, when you're ready, it's completely fine to admit you're jealous."

"Oh shut up." He replied, "You're paying now."

"I expected as much."

"I'm going to order everything they have now." John declared.

Sherlock shook his head exasperatedly, though clearly amused.

"If it makes you happy, feel free to buy everything. Though I would avoid the chicken, that may actually give you food poisoning, and I am quite fond of my head."

"Oh I'm aware of how fond you are of yourself." He replied.

* * *

"Did you actually buy that badger book?"

John questioned as they walked down the desolate streets, it was too windy and cold for people to be out.

"Yes, it might prove to be important information. If it isn't I'll just delete it."

John rolled his eyes,

"You make absolutely no sense most of the time."

"I could say the same thing about you." Sherlock said in all seriousness.

"I think you'll find I'm the normal one here."

"You are far from normal, you're fairly exceptional in your own way." He smiled at the shorter, chuckling softly when John actually blushed, caught off guard by the compliment.

"You better not be taking the piss." He said embarrassedly.

"John," He said quietly, gently tugging on the other's arm to get him to stop walking, "I'm not joking, you are brilliant."

For a moment John could have sworn the air rushed out of his lungs as he stood paralysed on the spot, head tilting of its own accord as Sherlock bent down. With a spark their lips met, softer than before, gentler. The taller pulled back after far too short a time, a smile beginning to form on John's face.

**A/N: I ended up writing it tonight after all, compromising me came up on shuffle and I couldn't resist x3 Damn you Mr Beckett. Plus I bought myself a shiny new laptop today with a working full stop :D I was going to put drama and stuffs in this chapter, but decided that could wait for the next chapter :3 **

**I got some awesome and helpful reviews ^^ Thank you so much! All of them are been very, very appreciated. Makes for a super happy author. (I may get round to actually replying to reviews at some point x3) Oh, and this has reached 50 alerts and 20 favs! Thank you! Gah, you're all so very, very kind.**

**If anyone happens to want to beta, that'd be cool :3 If not I'll just try and thoroughly read through myself ^^**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Woah, when did this get to chapter 12? Well, this means it's actually reached over halfway! Assuming I stick to the plan this time xD Even so, there may be some kind of sequel.**

**Thank you for the reviews, the faving and alerting, as ever it is so much appreciated. A special thank you to Egyptian1995 for betaing :3**

**How has this even got readers? ^^; well it has at any rate, on with the chapter! Enjoy :D**

A week had passed since their 'date' with surprising ease. Sherlock had continued to be his usual obnoxious but irritatingly clever self, and John had continued being very secretly impressed, not wanting his ego to get any worse. They settled in almost disturbingly easily to a routine. John retreating to Sherlock's room most evenings (Sherlock had made a comment about how indecent it must have looked, John turned several shades of red) to idly discuss pressing matters like the decreasing bee population. The taller had given him a scathing look when he offhandedly commented that he didn't see how that could be more important than the entire government.

"I thought your brother was in the civil service anyway." John said, not really expecting any kind of real response.

Sherlock looked up at him with the very slightest hint of suspicion,

"He is, why should that matter?"

"Oh don't give me that look," he rolled his eyes, "I just mean that you must care about at least part of the government then."

Apparently satisfied by his answer, the other returned to poking around the insides of a lab rat, John preferred not to know how he got his hands on it.

"Not really."

"What do you mean, not really? He could be doing something dangerous!" He asked incredulously, doubting Sherlock's lack of concern regarding people could possibly extend to his family too.

"He almost certainly is," Sherlock replied disinterestedly, "He is however more than capable of taking care of himself."

There was something in his tone of voice that warned John to drop it, but he was reluctant to. He still quite distinctly remembered his meeting with the older Holmes brother and it had left him somewhat confused about the brother's relationship. They hardly seemed close, but going all the way to the school just to intimidate him was quite some length to be going to.

"So you don't worry about him, at all?"

"I worry that he might be starting wars."

John resisted the urge to sigh, instead shaking his head resignedly.

* * *

"Rather late to be wandering around, isn't it?"

John quite literally jumped, swivelling to find a familiarly smug face.

"Rather late to be creeping around a boys school, isn't it?" He replied with a humourless smile.

"Well I was expecting you to return somewhat earlier, you must have been…occupied."

He supposed it probably wouldn't be productive to punch Mycroft, tempting thought it was.

"Did you want something?"

"You were seen, you know. On your lovely trip out last weekend. Mr Alexander Woodward was venturing to the other side of town when he stumbled upon quite the sight."

"And?" He said calmly, though internally panicking, that had been John's biggest concern, the likelihood of being spotted.

Mycroft paused to give him a look as though he thought John was being purposefully obtuse.

"And that presents a difficultly. I have worked very hard to keep Sherlock out of too much trouble, you appear to be trying to undermine my efforts."

"It was his idea." John protested, though he wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to justify himself.

"Oh I've no doubt," He replied in what should have been a good natured manner, but somehow managed to come across as condescending, "But you're a socially aware young man, are you not? Surely you thought through the ramifications."

"Sorry, I don't see what this has to do with you." He said, flustered.

"You are not the one who will have to clean up the mess after, John. Whatever your motives are, you shouldn't be encouraging him." Mycroft said sharply.

"What do you mean, motives?" John asked, offended by the other's accusatory tone.

"You made an agreement with William Richardson, regarding gaining access to me last month didn't-"

John interrupted before he could continue,

"It was a misunderstanding."

"Really?" He said, eyebrow raised as he flicked through whatever the documents he held loosely in his hands were. John had an unsettling feeling it was to do with him.

"Yes, I wasn't exactly…sober when I agreed to it."

Mycroft gave him disdainful smile,

"Well that certainly inspires confidence."

He could feel himself losing his temper with the ridiculously irritating man,

"Look, you clearly don't know your own brother that well, or you'd know that getting me to go away wouldn't make him very happy."

"What makes him happy is not always best for him. I know my brother craves distractions, John, you are nothing more than a temporary distraction. It would be better for all involved if you were to back off now."

* * *

Sherlock opened his door to a highly annoyed John, he stepped back to let him in.

"I just ran into your brother, how does he get into the school at all hours so easily?" He ranted, walking into the room.

"Mycroft? What did he want?" He asked, although he had a fairly strong idea why.

"What do you think? Same as last time, telling me to go away, basically. I think he's actually spying on me now too." John irritably said.

"Probably," Sherlock replied, equally annoyed.

"He said that someone saw us, by the way." He added, slightly awkwardly.

The taller merely shrugged.

"I wouldn't worry, he's likely dealt with him already. Oh don't be so dramatic, at worst he'll have threatened him, maybe had him transfer schools." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes at the other's slightly too vivid imagination.

"Transferring schools is still slightly dramatic, isn't it?"

"Is it? I doubt you want him going around telling everyone what saw," He pointed out, "For once my brother may have actually done something useful."

"I will hit him next time he appears outside my room though."

"That seems fair." Sherlock said with a small amused smile, "What did you say to him?"

John sheepishly looked out the window.

"What is it, what did you say?"

"Might have told him to fuck off…." He mumbled.

"You told the single most dangerous man in Britain to fuck off?" Sherlock replied, trying to sound stern.

"Maybe."

"You really are brilliant. Stupid, but brilliant." He laughed as John shoved him off the edge of the desk with a huff.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Third time lucky? So, after having uploaded the wrong chapter I somehow managed to delete the right one. I don't even know, I think there's something wrong with me ^^; **

**Nevermind though, hello readers! :D Here's a nice new chapter for you, completely drama-less, for those of you who were after a bit of fluff ^^ **

**Thank you dearest reviewers! If I could just coax a few more of you into it…:3 Thanks for the alerts, faving and reading. And finally thank you to my fantastic beta Egyptian1995 for reassuring me about this chapter ^^much appreciated (oh dear, that reads like an acceptance speech).**

**Enjoy! **

"It's freezing, where the hell are we going?" John complained, shivering as Sherlock led the way through corridors he hadn't been aware existed.

"You should have put more clothes on then." He said, completely ignoring the question, not that John was particularly surprised.

"Well I didn't plan for midnight…escapades!" He retorted, wishing he'd thought to bring a jacket with him. He was willing to bet Sherlock was feeling pretty smug in his coat.

"I said it would be cold, you could have put a jumper on."

"I don't own a jumper." John irritably muttered, wrapping his arms around himself, "If we get caught out at this time of the night, I am going to blame you. Just so you know."

Sherlock glanced at him amusedly,

"How exactly are you going to blame me?"

"I'm going to say you kidnapped me." He replied stubbornly, shivering really quite violently, "No one would doubt me. They all think you're psychotic. Which you are, by the way."

The other simply smiled at the shorter, letting them lapse into silence for a few minutes before he came to an abrupt stop. John just managed to stop himself from running into the taller, hitting him petulantly in the back for good measure.

"That was violent," He commented blithely before pushing the door open, revealing a small room with nothing more in it than a small staircase leading up to a trapdoor.

Cautiously John trailed behind him, shivering having stopped, overcome by the stronger sense of curiosity.

Sherlock went up the stairs first, opening the trapdoor and climbing up through it. John followed up behind, commenting dying in his throat as he pushed himself out of the room and out onto a flat section of roof.

"Oh."

Sherlock smirked,

"Eloquently put. The stars are clear tonight, I thought you might want to see."

The smaller boy didn't even notice the smug tone of the other as sat down on the slightly damp roof, staring up at the sky. Sherlock sat down next to him, leaving a reasonable gap between them. They sat for a while unspeaking, quietly admiring the remarkably clear sky.

"Do you know what stars are made of?" John suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

Sherlock threw him a half-hearted glare, betrayed by the ghost of smile playing on his lips,

"It's not important."

"There are a lot of scientists who would probably take issue with you saying that." He chuckled quietly.

"It's hardly my fault they dedicate their lives to completely irrelevant subjects." He replied.

They lapsed back into comfortable silence, John's mind wandering freely. Though really, it was hard to think of much other than the tall boy sitting next to him. He glanced at him momentarily, noting the unusually serene look on his face, blank was a common expression, but not tranquil. Feeling like he was spying on something he shouldn't be, John looked back to the twinkling sky.

"You're going to get pneumonia."

John jumped, he'd been completely lost in his own thoughts. He looked to the other, feeling a sudden surge of affection towards the male holding out his coat to him.

"You'll freeze." He reasoned, shaking his head.

"It's fine." Sherlock said shortly, throwing the coat at the shorter.

John slipped on the coat, far too long for him but still warm from the being worn by Sherlock. He smiled softly at the gesture of concern.

"We'll be breaking up for Christmas soon." He said quietly, fiddling with the overly-long sleeves.

Sherlock gave him an unidentifiable sideways glance,

"Aren't you looking forward to going back to see your family?"

"Sort of, I mean yes, I'm excited to see them," John nodded, struggling to explain, "I am, it's just...I don't know what to say to them, my parents. Should I even say anything to them?"

"Do you want to?" Sherlock asked stiffly.

"Yes," he replied firmly, "I suppose I'm just…scared."

His expression softened, and Sherlock shuffled closer to him, slipping his hand into the other's,

"That's normal."

"I bet you wouldn't be scared."

"No, but I'm not normal." Sherlock smiled ruefully, "Is there someone you could talk to first?"

John shrugged,

"My sister, I guess."

"Well then, Mr Watson, it's my recommendation that you take that course of actions." He replied officiously.

"Thank you very much." He rolled his eyes, "Are you looking forward to Christmas?"

"Two weeks stuck with Mycroft? I can't wait." Sherlock said bitterly.

"Have I…have I made things difficult for you?" John asked gingerly.

"Probably." He replied with harsh honesty.

The smaller frowned, tapping his fingertips idly on Sherlock's knuckles.

"I could have pretended you're just a friend, last time I saw him I mean."

Sherlock chucked darkly,

"Pointless, you aren't the best liar to start with, you couldn't possibly hope to fool Mycroft." John was about the get offended when Sherlock quietly said, "Besides, I think you're probably worth the difficulty."

He smiled slightly and looked back up to the sky,

"How did you know it was such a nice night anyway?"

"Oh, I was out here anyway." He shrugged, "Might as well have company."

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's uncanny ability to make things that could actually be considered sweet sound entirely selfish.

"Nice to know I was top of your thoughts." He said huffily.

Sherlock looked blankly at him for a moment before realising he was joking.

"Well, I thought of asking someone else first, but they were busy." He replied casually, laughing softly when John hit his arm a little harder than necessary, "You really need to control that violent streak."

"You stop being so annoying, and I won't hit you." He replied light-heartedly.

"I think that counts as domestic abuse." Sherlock said with a wise nod.

"As if I would dare, if you didn't get some kind of horrible revenge I'm fairly sure your brother would." John replied, grimacing at the thought.

"No he wouldn't, I wouldn't let him hurt you." He frowned.

"I was joking," John replied amusedly, giving his hand a tiny squeeze, "But that's very comforting to know."

After another half an hour slowly freezing on top of the school roof they ventured back down, meandering idly down the corridors. Any teachers that might have been prowling around would almost certainly have returned to their own rooms by that time anyway, they were fairly safe.

Standing outside of John's room, Sherlock smiled at the shorter male.

"Thank you."

"For what?" He asked, fairly sure that he was the one meant to be thanking him.

"For coming with me at ridiculous hours of the night." Sherlock replied, one hand moving to gently rest on John's neck. He leant down and softly kissed him, moving away too quickly for either of their likings really.

"Good night then." John said. He watched as the other smiled and walked back towards his own room before opening the door and entering, thoughts quietly drifting through his tired mind.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Gah, today was stressful, it's a miracle I managed to get this chapter done at all =_=**

**Awesome beta was awesome, thankies Egyptian1995 :) **

**Thank you for alerting, faving and reading. I'm starting to sound terribly repetitive, but it really is awesome of you all :) Don't suppose I could encourage you to leave feedback though? ^^; (thank you to those who have already! :3)**

**On with the chapter! :D **

John was fairly sure Sherlock was actually the most difficult person in the world to shop for. Not only did he show zero interest in anything beyond random books that might possibly prove useful, he was almost certain anything Sherlock wanted he could easily go buy himself, judging by the average household income of the school. It had been a frustrating process before he'd even got round to the shopping. John had run into Sherlock on the way out of the school and had tried admirably to lie about what he was doing before the other had figured it out with ease. Ignoring his protests that he really didn't need anything, John had told him to bugger off and continued on his way.

He supposed it probably didn't help that it was a relatively small town with incredibly limited appeal for most of the boys, let alone anything to cater to the bizarre tastes of a teenage genius. After wandering around in the freezing cold for an hour, John gave up and retreated to the sanctuary of the slightly dodgy looking café Sherlock had shown him.

* * *

It was probably through some form of divine justice that Sherlock found himself faced with almost exactly the same problem. It should have been easy enough for him to pick up on whatever it was John wanted, and if it was anyone else he would have. Unfortunately the smaller honestly didn't stop to think that much about things that he wanted, and with a degree of smugness he noted that it certainly didn't seem to be top of John's priorities when he was around.

He was beginning to find the present buying process slightly exasperating as he sifted blankly through cheap seasonal gifts. He couldn't imagine anyone being genuinely pleased to get anything quite so gaudy. Really Sherlock would rather give something at least slightly practical, something that might at least be of some use. But then he was willing to admit what was practical to him might not be quite so useful to someone else.

* * *

John knocked on the door softly, glancing down self-consciously at what would probably seem like a vastly inadequate gift. Quite a poorly wrapped one too.

The door swung open and John smiled nervously at the taller, wandering into the room and sinking into one of the chairs by the window. He laughed under his breath, spotting the appalling wrapped present on the table; at least he wasn't the only one who failed completely at presentation.

"You're a complete pain in the arse to shop for." John announced, holding out his present awkwardly, huffing in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment.

Sherlock glanced at him amusedly for a moment before taking the present and handing over his own.

"You first." John instructed, sinking into the chair as much as he could, "At least if I'm here I can try to justify it…"

He meticulously removed the wrapping, smiling slightly as he began to see what it was,

"Staff paper."

"You said when you were little trying to compose helped you concentrate, so I thought you could give it a go again, it's got to be better than smoking at every given opportunity." John rambled, looking highly embarrassed.

"So speaks the future doctor," Sherlock smiled, "Thank you, really. A useful gift is the best kind."

He was mostly please at the fact that John paid that much attention to what he said. He waved at John, gesturing for him to open the present.

Looking somewhat relieved he shifted up in his chair and slightly less delicately began removing the paper. Whatever was in it was clearly soft and as the paper fell off he chuckled,

"A jumper, cheers."

"Because next time you go out without any form of warm clothing, I am just going to let you get pneumonia." Sherlock said flatly, though internally pleased by his reaction.

John ran the soft fabric through his fingers a few times before stopping abruptly and pulling it on.

"It's cosy." He nodded approvingly, "But I reckon there was a lot of self-interest in this present."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him enquiringly as John continued.

"Because this makes me all soft and…squishy." He pointed out, "And however distant and cool you try and make yourself look, I know your secret."

"And what secret is that?" He asked.

"You like hugs. There's no need to lie, it's ok." John said patting his arm, in an act of mock-comfort.

Sherlock laughed quietly and inclined his head,

"I admit it freely. I do like them, but only if they're from you."

"And the jumper." John nodded wisely.

* * *

John glanced at the bags on his bed irritably. He most definitely was looking forward to going to see his family, but he didn't really want to leave either. It was stupid really, given that it was only for a few weeks but he honestly couldn't help it. It wasn't just about missing people either, or even one specific person. He'd got used to the relative freedom that being away from home had afforded him. To go back and be forced to account to his parents at every given moment struck him as slightly suffocating.

A knock on the door started him out of his thoughts. Wandering over he opened it to find Sherlock, a suitcase beside him, clearly ready to go.

"Mycroft's about to arrive, I thought I should come say goodbye. "

"You're going back with Mycroft? In the same car? All the way to London?" John said, smiling despite himself.

"It wasn't my choice," Sherlock replied somewhat bitterly, "He insisted."

"I'm shocked." John replied with a good natured chuckle.

Sherlock smiled, leaning in to murmur softly,

"I really am going to miss you."

He lightly pressed John against the wall, hand resting in the small of his back as the other snaked up to his neck. Rougher than ever before their mouths connected, Sherlock biting sharply on his lip, deepening the kiss. Unconsciously John found his hands tangling into the taller's hair as his tongue swept over the taller's bottom lip.

Eventually Sherlock pulled away unwillingly, letting his hand drop from John's neck.

"See you in a few weeks." He said reluctantly.

John nodded, too concerned he might say something overly emotional to speak. He was fairly sure that the two weeks were going to drag on like never before.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Well, this is a seriously late update by my standards andIdon'tevenknowwhy. Sorry guys! On the other hand, I'm sleep deprived and ill so it's a minor miracle I actually finished it.**

**Thank you so much readers :) Thanks to everyone for reviewing, faving or subscribing! As ever, my beta was awesome, thank you Egyptian1995! **

**I'm not going to beg for reviews…but feed my ego! I kid, I kid, just keep your incredibly helpful reviews coming ^^ There have been some very, very useful ones.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

If there was one thing John could be thankful for, it was the good atmosphere Christmas brought. Everyone was so busy preparing that no one even noticed that he wasn't himself. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being home, it wasn't even that he missed Sherlock, he did but that wasn't the issue. It was that every time the family was gathered around he kept wondering if it would be any different if they knew. If they knew that somewhere in London a hugely antisocial genius was, hopefully, missing him, would they be treating him any differently? It was no real exaggeration to say that he was the favoured child; he showed more promise than his sister, though he had always found the comparison an uncomfortable one.

Arms laden with Christmas decorations, apparently the landing didn't look festive enough, John clambered up the stairs, with some difficulty. The house had a ludicrous amount of decoration in his opinion. He didn't mind the place looking festive; he quite firmly believed it was a time of year where everyone was allowed to forget to be tasteful. But really, he felt like they'd crossed a line somewhere; almost every available surface had been covered in some variety of red and gold decorations. Draping tinsel inelegantly over the banister, he glanced at his sister's room. He felt almost guilty, keeping something quite so major from her. After all, they'd always been reasonably close.

John knocked on the door tentatively, trying to think of an excuse he could use should he want to back out, though he already wanted to run away and pretend there was nothing to talk about.

John jumped as the door swung open, his sister giving him an odd look, clearly puzzled by his behaviour.

"Alright?" She asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

"Yeah, no, fine. Well, no, not actually." John fidgeted on the spot, trying to think of a delicate way to discuss the issue, "Can we talk in there?"

Harry stepped back with a concerned frown, closing the door behind him. John chuckled distractedly, noting how messy the room was, almost the complete opposite to his own.

"It's disgusting in here." He commented offhandedly.

"Tidy it up yourself if it bothers you that much." She immediately replied, sitting down on the bed.

"God no, I wouldn't dare. Christ only knows what I might find." He John leant against the radiator, looking determinedly out the window.

"How's school?" She asked, clearly trying to coax some indication of what was wrong from him.

John smiled appreciatively at her efforts.

"Good. Very good actually." Unwittingly a small smile slipped onto his face of its own accord as he thought of school, or more accurately its occupants. Well, one of its occupants.

"Oh, oh I see a smile there. Go on, what is it? Or should I say who?" She smiled slyly at him, leaning forwards, legs crossed in front of her, "What local young maiden has stolen my ickle brother's heart?"

John shot her an irritated look, folding his arms nervously,

"That's what I wanted to talk about…"

"Oh god, you've not got her pregnant have you?"

"What? No! Really, Harry? That's your first thought?" He shook his head bemusedly at her train of thought.

"Sorry, sorry. Carry on." She encouraged, nodding him on.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm himself, and quite deliberately avoiding her stare, he continued,

"I think, well actually I'm pretty sure now, I'm…." He trailed of, losing nerve.

"You're what?" She asked, a look of suspicion crossing her face as she leant forwards slightly in anticipation.

"IthinkImightbegay." He blurted out, finding himself unnervingly unable to look away.

Harry stared at him for a moment in silence.

"You think, or you are?"

"Are. I mean am. Probably." He replied stiffly, internally panicking.

"Ok, calm down. Seriously, you look like you're going to pass out. As if me, of all people, is going to mind," She smiled soothingly, "That was brave though, well done."

"Well done? I'm not a dog." John replied with a slightly hesitant smile.

"Beg to differ." Harry replied, "Who's this guy then? The one that's made school so good."

"Sherlock." He answered almost sheepishly, fiddling idly with the curtains.

"Bit of a weird name." She commented casually.

"Bit of a weird guy." He replied with a smile.

* * *

Sherlock couldn't help but feel a sense of relief as the car drew up to the house. Somewhere he could, most of the time at least, drop any pretence and do exactly what he wanted to. Stepping out into the cold air he took a moment to examine the familiar structure, immaculate bricks painted a cold shade of white and a heavy, unreceptive door. It wasn't really home; after all he'd spent so long in boarding schools, it was a place of refuge though. Inside everyone knew exactly what to expect of him, the majority had given up on trying to coax him into sociability.

Before he could escape the cold, into the house, Mycroft called out to him,

"Mummy's home."

He spun around, staring at his brother with scrutinising look,

"You're not joking. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You would have found a reason not to come. Try not to ruin Christmas this year, Sherlock." He said, sweeping past the younger into the house.

Sherlock stood outside for a while longer, gazing at the cast-iron gates wistfully. He had no problem with his mother, she was a calm understanding woman and very dear to him. However, her being in the house meant that they were expected to have a proper Christmas, no hiding away for the entirety of the holiday.

* * *

Sherlock slipped into the room, gazing distastefully at the overly lavish decorating for a moment, finally averting his gaze to the woman sitting gracefully in an armchair by the window.

"Hello Mummy."

"Hello darling." She greeted, smiling at the decidedly disgruntled teen before her, clearly itching to escape, "How are you?"

Sherlock resignedly sank into the sofa opposite his mother, recognising the determined look on her face. He quickly glared at Mycroft, who sat watching amusedly on the other side of the room, flicking through dusty volumes.

"Fine." He replied shortly, "I'm fine."

"How has school been? Have you done anything interesting?"

"Oh, dull as always. The teachers are as dim-witted as ever, most of them have no idea what they're talking about." He replied in a lack-lustre tone.

"I'm sure they try their best," She replied patiently, "They have to teach everyone's level, not just yours."

"Then everyone is dim-witted." Sherlock replied petulantly.

"Oh I'm sure you wouldn't say all of your classmates are dull." Mycroft said lightly, not looking up from his book.

"have you been making friends, Sherlock?" She asked, with notable optimism.

"Very good friends indeed." The taller commented from his chair.

"Mycroft dear, do explain properly. It's not polite to sit making remarks."

He gently placed the book down on the table, glancing smugly at Sherlock. The younger glared as if it might achieve something, hands digging tensely into the sofa arm.

"Why I only meant that Sherlock here has acquired a…partner." He explained with exaggerated delicacy.

If he didn't think it would have upset his mother, Sherlock would have started planning Mycroft's violent death right then.

"Romantic partner?" She immediately asked, turning to look at Sherlock interested.

"Yes." He replied levelly.

"What's his name?"

Seeing that Sherlock wasn't going to reply Mycroft interrupted the silence,

"John Watson.

"Watson," She repeated thoughtfully, "What do his parents do?"

Sherlock realised with a sinking feeling that she was trying to figure out which unbearably aristocratic family he came from.

"His father is an accountant, mother was a nurse, but quit to raise the children." Mycroft supplied, ignoring the murderous looks from his brother.

"Oh," She replied tightly, "Well, that's nice, isn't it? Why don't you both go prepare for dinner?"

They nodded and quietly walked out of the room, climbing up the stairs.

"Why did you do that?" Sherlock asked sharply, out of earshot on the spacious landing.

"Mother had a right to know." He replied calmly, walking towards his room.

"It is none of her or your business! Why are you trying to cause problems?"

"I am doing no such thing." Mycroft replied in an irritating reasoning tone, "I am simply looking out for your best interests, since you seem to refuse to."

Sherlock growled angrily, shoving past his brother, pausing at the corridor that led to his room,

"I do not need your help, keep out of things that have nothing to do with you."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I forgot to put a note on this :') I'm so bright. Well, here's a most definitely not fluffy or christmassy chapter for you all ._. So much angst.**

**Thank you readers and reviewers :3 Thanks to my beta ^^ Aaand on with the chapter.  
**

Whenever John thought about Christmas, it was always childhood ones that he jumped to. He remembered waking up at an obscene hour and climbing onto their parent's bed, tearing open tiny parcels of cheap toys and sweets that filled up the little homemade stockings. Now that they were older, it had become a slightly more subdued affair; no one could bring themselves to get out of bed that early for a start. Tumbling down to the stairs in a sleepy mass of jeans and jumper he slipped into an armchair, mumbling merry Christmas to the room. Curling the ends of the jumper over his hands, John reminded himself dozily to text Sherlock before he forgot.

"Who's Sherlock?"

John jumped in his seat, not having realised he'd actually said anything out loud. He turned to his mother and shook his head,

"No one, just a mate."

She seemed satisfied, nodding and continuing dividing the neatly wrapped presents into piles.

John pointedly ignored the enquiring looks he was getting from his sister, instead pulling out his phone and texting Sherlock quickly. It was only a short message, just to wish him a happy Christmas. He chuckled quietly at the mental image of Sherlock and Mycroft in the same house for two whole weeks.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell them?" Harry asked abruptly, catching him in the hall as he attempted to slip away quietly.

John gave her an incredulous look,

"Because it's…scary, frankly. I don't know how to go about it and god only knows how they'd react!"

She gave him sympathetic half-smile and shrugged,

"You're going to have to tell them at some point though."

"Yeah, but maybe when I'm not rely on them for a place to come back to." He said darkly, fiddling with the tinsel on the banister distractedly.

"You don't really think they'd throw you out?" She asked concernedly, tugging on the other end of the tinsel.

"Look Harry, I don't know, I don't want to tell them, not now. I don't want to do it at Christmas, in case it does end badly." He gave her an almost apologetic shrug before turning away and walking up the stairs to his room. He felt guilty, he felt like he was letting his sister down and lying to his parents. But then, it was his own private life anyway, what did it actually have to do with them?

Flopping inelegantly onto his bed, John found himself wishing that Sherlock was around to give him a stupidly intelligent answer.

* * *

Christmas dinner was an unreasonably awkward affair at the Holmes household, not helped greatly by the brothers exchanging meaningful, and none too friendly, glances across the table. Their mother inevitably tried her best to pry into the lives of her sons, with disturbing success. Both males knew in the backs of their minds that it was only because they were both all too willing to expose the each other's secret that she managed to extract so much information; they'd have been better working together.

It was some small mercy that their father wasn't present, too busy working on some terribly important project for things like family life. He was unpleasant in the extreme; Sherlock's childhood was littered with memories of the sneering man reminding him of exactly how little he was worth. Christmas had always been the worst time of year, forced to spend an entire day trying to be polite in the face of unrealistic expectations he could never hope to achieve. Yet in those days he'd had a true ally; Mycroft had always managed to come to his rescue, diverting the attention or else pointing out all the things the younger had managed to achieve.

Sherlock smiled bitterly as he walked into the dining room, he'd long since lost any allies within the family. His mother was already seated, overly dressed for a dinner of three people. Mycroft inclined his head from across the table, dressed as always in a suit that most likely cost more than most people's monthly rent.

"You could have dressed for the occasion," His mother said critically from where she sat, "What is that school doing to your manners?"

"I doubt it's the school's fault." Mycroft commented disparagingly, his tone laced with implications.

"Mycroft, dear, it's hardly fair to blame his school friends, I'm sure most of them would know better," She paused for a moment, "They're from good families."

"Most of them, certainly." Mycroft smiled casually, picking up wine glass.

Sherlock supposed it was probably considered bad manners to murder one's own brother at the dinner table. With supressed anger he sat down in one of the highly uncomfortable chair.

Their mother gave the older a slightly amused smile,

"Now now boys, stop behaving like children. It's a terrible shame your father is so busy."

She sounded wistful, but both boys almost imperceptibly tensed at the mention of the man. Mycroft loudly cleared his throat and nodded stiffly,

"Yes, well I'm sure Father is busy with something very important."

"More important than us." Sherlock stated. Disappointment had long since faded into indifference; they had learned that they were low on the man's list of priorities. Frankly, they preferred it that way anyway.

"Sherlock," She admonished sharply, "Don't be so ungrateful."

He stared back blankly at her, he never understood how she could be so blind when it came to their Father. He gave a minute shrug and leant back into his chair, staring out of the window.

The conversation moved on swiftly, guided on firmly by Mycroft, letting Sherlock drift off mentally to more desirable subjects. A small smile crept onto his face as he found himself wondering what John was doing, hoping his Christmas was more pleasant than his own. Though from what he'd heard about his family, that was more or less certain.

"Sherlock dear, pay attention."

"What?" He asked, suddenly aware that he was the focus of attention. Evidently they'd been talking about him.

"I was just saying, you should bring, John was it? You should bring him to visit." She smiled at him in a manner that made it clear there was no room for discussion.

Sherlock nodded back, calmly excusing himself from the table and walking to the nearest empty room. Perching on the windowsill he groaned, there was no way a meeting with his family would end well.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I'm so sorry, my updates are getting way less frequent. It was just a horrible week and at no point did I feel like writing, so yeah, sorry again. T_T**

**Thank you readers, reviewers, subscribers and such, as ever it makes my day :) Thank you to my beta, Egyptian1995, for being patient xD  
**

**This chapter is pure angst, I'm so sorry, I swear I don't know how it happens. It was meant to be fluff...Well, on with the chapter anyhow.  
**

Despite what people seemed to think, Sherlock wasn't out of touch with reality. In most ways he was far more conscious of everyday life than most people, he simply chose to keep his distance. If eighteen years of observing had taught him anything, it had taught him that people were rarely telling the complete truth. Real, full honesty was rare and he was acutely aware that it was a trait that had completely bypassed his family. So when his mother had smilingly told him she wanted to meet John, he couldn't help but doubt her motives somewhat. Certainly, she was curious but Sherlock suspected that she wasn't just interested in finding out more about the boy. Stomach lurching, he thought back to Mycroft's attempts to threaten and intimidate John.

It was reluctantly that Sherlock had texted John, not entirely trusting himself to have a real conversation, nervous as he was. As he'd expected the other had accepted the invitation to visit for New Year's Eve, complete with a ramble of nervous questions. It was banal and if Sherlock was honest he didn't have the patience to deal with them, he'd turned his phone off and left it in his room whilst he wandered the streets. He felt guilty for the sudden rush of disdain he'd felt for the other, reading through his predictably commonplace reaction. Undoubtedly, it was the stress of having to stay in the same house as both his brother and his mother, who both put him on edge.

Stopping outside the house, he perched on the top of the wall, where stone turned into iron and watched the street. He watched for a while as adulteresses, failures and cheats walked by, all desperate to hide their secrets, unknowingly displaying them for the world to see. If only the world stopped to look. Sighing deeply he stood up and trudged back into the house.

* * *

John was nervous. He'd met people's parents before, that wasn't an issue. No, after all he was good with people, he got them and by and large they just sort of took to him. The problem was when he stopped to think about Sherlock, because any family that managed to produce him was not likely to be a normal family. They were undoubtedly going to be looking down on him anyway, a common person like himself mixing with people way above his own class. They probably thought it bordering on treason. Of course there was the additional problem of Mycroft, who had made his feelings perfectly clear already on multiple occasions. John had a sneaking suspicion that the Holmes family was more likely to see it Mycroft's way than Sherlock's. He'd been told already that their father wouldn't be there, but that didn't make him feel much better, meeting the mother seemed about ten times more intimidating anyway. She was bound to be protective over her sons, weren't most mothers? Shifting in his seat, John stared out the train window at the countryside passing by, feelings slightly ashamed that he was more nervous than he was excited.

* * *

The platform was unreasonably busy, but he spotted Sherlock almost immediately. He looked completely unfazed by the mass of people rushing around him, watching people passing interestedly. John paused for a moment to watch him with a smile, chuckling quietly at the thought of all those people having their entire lives analysed without them even knowing it. Finally Sherlock noticed him, a smile immediately slipping onto his face as he strode over. Forgetting his nervousness John stepped forwards to meet him, almost unconsciously leaning up and pressing their lips together softly.

"I missed you." He said quietly, once returned to his normal height.

"I missed you too." Sherlock replied sincerely, quietly slipping his hand into the others as they left the station.

The taxi ride back was filled with John's comments that couldn't have been more typically tourist-like if he'd tried, much to Sherlock's amusement. Frankly, that was the point of them. John wasn't entirely sure what was going on but the atmosphere was strange, not in a particularly pleasant way. A small part of John started panicking, what if Sherlock had decided that his brother was right, and he didn't want to be around him anymore? Maybe there was too much pressure from his family, who couldn't possibly approve. Trying to ignore those most unhelpful of thoughts, John continued to try and make conversation.

* * *

The house was ridiculous. John had never felt more out of place in his entire life as he trailed behind Sherlock, gazing around in awe. It felt like he'd accidentally wandered into a museum; it was a bizarre mix of organised and dusty, impressive but not what anyone would consider a real home.

Fortunately it seemed like no one else was in the house or hidden away if they were. John had the uncomfortable sensation of being watched, though he suspected it was more his own paranoia than anything else. He felt like every move he made was being judged, waiting for him to make some terrible mistake.

He found the guestroom was a welcome relief, simple and relatively plain in neutral colours. He'd expected grand, certainly, but nothing quite to that scale. Sherlock had shown him the way to the room, murmured an excuse and went, leaving John feeling all the more out of place and abandoned.

Sitting cautiously on the bed he gazed around the room miserably, wishing he'd never accepted the invitation. No matter what way he looked at the matter, it seemed like things couldn't possibly go well.

* * *

Sherlock left the room guiltily, hastily heading down the hall towards his own room. He didn't even know why he was trying to escape; after all he'd spent the entire holiday to that point wishing he could see John. Shoving aside a few books, Sherlock sank onto the window seat, staring out at the rainy scene. He vaguely recognised that it was likely one of those moods when things had piled up on him and become too much. Ever since he was a child he would go into morose periods where everyone became no more than a chore to him, every question and comment became unbearably irritating. When he was young people humoured him, as he grew up he learnt that isolating himself was the easiest way through. Unfortunately, he'd never had to deal with ordinary people before, or at least not ones he genuinely cared about.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I am so sorry T_T It's a late update, I know. Sadly real life got in the way. I'll try and be more prompt, but I can't promise anything at the moment. Thank you everyone for being patient ^^;**

**Thank you for reviewing, following and reading :3 As ever, a big thank you to Egyptian1995 for betaing ()^^  
**

**On with the chapter :)****  
**

It was no exaggeration to say John was panicking when Sherlock appeared at his door, telling him that his mother was waiting downstairs to meet him. A thousand different scenarios played through his mind as he closed the door behind him, his imagination trying to produce an image of what the woman would be like. Most of them, it had to be said, were not happy scenes.

John suddenly stopped halfway down the stairs, uneasily eyeing the corridor. It was ridiculous, there was no good reason he should be so nervous, but all he could think was what if she didn't like him? What if she decided he wasn't good enough, and that was that, the end of them?

Sherlock turned, gently reaching out and taking the other's hand in his,

"It doesn't matter. I mean, whatever she thinks, it doesn't really matter."

"It does though, even if it doesn't to you, it does to me. Your Mother is important; I don't want to be battling her." John countered, though tightening his grip.

"Not everyone is going to like you, much less us." He replied clinically, "Why should it matter?"

"Because not everyone is like you, we can't all live our lives alone." He replied sharply, moving to walk past the taller, pulling his hand away.

Sherlock grabbed his arm, tugging him back around, hurt flashing through his eyes,

"I can't live life alone either."

"I know. Sorry." He guiltily replied, turning away again and continuing down the stairs.

Sherlock watched him go for a moment, sighing softly, apparently he wasn't the only one affected by the pressure.

* * *

It was as if the room had been specially designed to be as intimidating as possible. The table was just long enough that everyone was slightly separate, offering no comfort, without passing into ludicrousness. John stared at the empty seats for a moment until Sherlock gestured towards one for him. He sat down awkwardly, acutely aware that he was being watched from the end of the table. They sat in silence until Mycroft entered, murmuring an apology and taking a seat on Sherlock's side of the table. The setup was beginning to feel unnervingly like an interview and his mind was conjuring images of interrogations.

Finally their Mother broke the silence, asking in an unexpectedly kind tone,

"John, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, pleased to meet you Mrs Holmes." He said unconsciously, as if his manners had gone into autopilot.

She smiled approvingly at the display of good behaviour,

"You're in the school on a scholarship, aren't you? That's nice; it's good for the boys to be able to mix with people from different backgrounds."

Sherlock stared at his mother in disbelief, sparing a glance over to his brother who seemed miraculously unfazed by her sudden change in attitude.

Unsure of how to answer her, John smiled slightly awkwardly back at her. He was obviously relieved to find her considerably kinder than he'd expected, but a small part of him was still suspicious. Mycroft's amused smile across the table wasn't really helping either.

"What did you say your parents do, John?" She continued.

"My dad's an accountant, my mum's a nurse." He replied awkwardly, fiddling with the cuff of his too long sleeves.

She smiled in a way that instantly made Sherlock suspicious,

"And are you planning on following in his footsteps?"

John shook his head vigorously, completely forgetting his nerves for a moment,

"No, I'm going to be a doctor."

"Oh, what a kind profession." She replied soothingly.

Sherlock watched uneasily as they continued in amiable conversation, trying to ignore that knowing look still plastered on Mycroft's face. Something really didn't feel right to him.

* * *

"That went well." John commented, surprise evident in his tone as they wandered back upstairs.

"Yes…" Sherlock murmured distractedly, frowning as he climbed up just behind John.

The smaller turned as they reached the landing, frowning.

"You could sound a bit happier."

"Of course I'm pleased," He replied patiently, "It's just…Something isn't right."

"So, you're saying you think she was pretending?" John said as he crossed his arms, standing in the way so Sherlock couldn't pass by.

"Possibly, probably. Think about it, John, it doesn't make any sense, why would she suddenly change her lifelong attitude? It wasn't you changing her mind, she was already being…" He paused struggling to find the word, "Friendly before you began talking."

"So maybe she's more open minded than you expected! Maybe for once, you were actually wrong!" John exclaimed loudly, forgetting how open they were.

"Be quiet, someone will hear you. I hope I am wrong. I'm not saying it to make you angry, or because I want to," Sherlock hissed, stepping up off the stairs onto the landing, "I'm just trying to make sure that you don't get hurt later. You're too trusting!"

"I'd rather be trusting than cynical like you." John replied, "Why is it I can never do anything right, or quite good enough for the almighty Holmes?"

Sherlock looked at him with an injured expression,

"When have I ever told you that? I'm not asking you to be brilliant, just see what's obvious!"

"You don't even realise you're doing it!" He stated incredulously, "It's not obvious to me, Sherlock!"

"Oh for god's sake stop being so stupid!" Sherlock froze as soon as he said it.

John shook his head, turned around and walked away, leaving the other gazing after him.

"I didn't mean it like that." He murmured softly, closing his eyes and leaning back onto a window ledge. That was why he hadn't really wanted John to meet his family, there was no way it could end well.

* * *

John dropped down onto the bed roughly, anger ebbing away into disappointment. It certainly wasn't the first time Sherlock had made him feel stupid, but somehow this time it was worse. He rarely wished that they could be like a normal couple, he usually liked all the things that made the other so unusual. But once in a while, he just wanted him to behave like an average human being. By all rights, they should both be sitting happily talking about how well dinner had gone, not sitting in separate rooms miserably. John shrugged to himself, how did he know Sherlock was miserable at all? For all he knew, he could have moved on to solving some great problem already. How much did he really mean to the other anyway? He was probably being unfair, he knew that, but he couldn't help it, he was only human.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I am so sorry. Genuinely, I'm so sorry, I'm so late in updating T_T Real life stuff and work got in the way majorly. I'm working on the next chapter now though, so hopefully the next one won't take too long.**

**Huge thank you to my beta egyptian1995 for cleaning up all my horrible, horrible mistakes andnotlaughingatmeforthem. Thank you dear readers, reviewers, subscribers. You all make my day :3**

Sherlock had trouble sleeping; he had as long as he could remember. He had never learnt how to calm the thoughts whirling around his head, how to hold the curiosity at bay. Every night he would gaze at the ceilings ideas and questions tumbled through his mind.

After another sleepless night he found himself moping towards the dining room. Most likely his mother and brother would already be inside, discussing highly unimportant matters like politics. Traditionally Mycroft would humour her as Sherlock sat and sulked, ignoring the plate placed before him.

Half-heartedly smirking upon hearing voices drifting out (of course he was right), Sherlock prepared himself for forced socialisation.

"Well of course it's hardly ideal."

"I think you're somewhat understating the matter mother."

"Oh, he seems harmless. A little dim, not particularly well brought up but entirely harmless."

Sherlock could hear the exasperation in Mycroft's voice, seeping through every word.

"I'm not suggesting that he's dangerous, however he is a distraction. The only advantage Sherlock has is intellect; if he doesn't focus he will lose all prospects."

"You could always employ him, if only he would accept it." She replied wistfully, "I do see your point, darling, he doesn't have quite the same social skills you do."

Sherlock snorted disparagingly despite himself. Mycroft had all the social skills of a turtle, his skills lay entirely in manipulation.

"Still, I wouldn't worry Mycroft; I highly doubt that it's going to last for longer than a few months, if that."

Losing the little self-control he had, Sherlock pushed the door open, striding into the room. As much as he wanted to be angry, he couldn't. After all, he'd expected as much from the beginning. He looked at their unashamed faces, disgusted at the thought that these were the people that supposedly wanted the best for him. They, that arguably knew him best, thought that he was better off alone. He was frankly slightly angry at himself for having thought something similar only days ago.

"Always looking out for my best interests, as ever." He drawled, gazing down the polished table.

"Sherlock, darling, I just want what's really best for you in the long run." His mother replied in a sharp voice, as if annoyed that he was anything less than grateful.

"So it's better for me to be alone? That's preferable?" He replied scornfully, disappointment quickly turning to irritation.

"If the other option is a boy so below yourself, then yes it is." She replied with a characteristic mix of firmness and coldness.

"Preferable for who exactly?" He snapped, unable to comprehend her mind-set.

She gave him an affronted look, as if he had insulted her,

"For you, Sherlock. I just want you to be happy."

"No, you want me to be a good child that won't embarrass you anymore than I already have." He replied, seething with anger.

"Don't be melodramatic, Sherlock." We're merely making sure that you don't get caught up with undesirable people. Again." Mycroft interrupted calmly.

"In what way is John an undesirable person?" He asked through gritted teeth

"What do you think his motives are? Fascination, money, status? Whatever it is, he will leave when he doesn't get what he wants he will leave. That is how the world works, Sherlock."

"Maybe in your world, but neither I nor John are a part of it. If you really cared so deeply about my happiness you would realise that there is no one else who makes me happier."

Turning to leave, he found John standing in the hall, staring into the room. He looked confused, hurt, but it seemed to Sherlock that he seemed in some small way pleased, or proud.

The shorter gave a hesitant smile, muttered an excuse to the two seated at the table and turned to leave. Sherlock followed him back upstairs, mildly surprised to find John leading him to his own room.

* * *

"Thank you."

"What?"

"For defending me. Not that I need it, I'm not some damsel in distress. You're certainly not a bloody knight, but still. Thank you." John smiled slightly and leaned forwards to kiss the other softly. It wasn't exactly reconciliation, Sherlock was fairly sure that John was still a little angry at him, but it was better.

"You better trust me from now on." John murmured against his lips, warm breath tickling at his skin. Sherlock made a vaguely affirmative sound, finding works failing him as John dragged his hand slowly up his side.

* * *

Sherlock would have liked to be surprised by the way his mother smiled and calmly said goodbye to John as if nothing had happened. He wasn't though, he'd expected nothing less from her. She sent them off to the train station with impeccable manners, politely making excuses to not accompany them as her upbringing dictated. Part of him wanted to make a fuss, but a larger part was glad that they could simply slip away quietly. At least some small part of the visit could go smoothly.

"Sorry." He said softly, standing by the barriers with John, one hand cautiously resting on his waist.

"It's not your fault." The other shrugged dismissively, though unmistakeable hurt flashing through his eyes at the memories.

"Some of it was." Sherlock said flatly.

John nodded with forced cheerfulness,

"Actually, yeah some of it was. Stop apologising though, it's completely out of character."

Sherlock smiled,

"If you insist. I suppose, see you at school then."

"Try not to get murdered by your brother before then. 3 days, plenty of time." John grinned, elbowing the others ribs.

"He wouldn't get his hands dirty, don't worry." He replied comfortingly.

"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about bloody stains on those disturbingly clean carpets."

"You're going to feel awful if I die now."

"Oh, I'll get over it in a month or two."

"How heartless." Sherlock smiled at the shorter amusedly.

"Takes one to know one." He replied childishly, turning as the train pulled into the station, "Alright, I should go."

Sherlock pulled a disapproving expression,

"Fine. See you at school."

John paused hesitantly, leaned forwards and gave the other a quick hug before quickly going through the barriers. Sherlock waved half-heartedly at the departing figure, turning and leaving morosely. Three days suddenly seemed like a long time.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Hello guys ^^ I felt so guilty about slow updating I wrote a new chapter. Quick word of warning, this fic has about 3 chapters left. D: When did we reach that point?! **

**Thanks as always to readers, reviewers, subscribers, I love you all. In a creepy, obsessive way.  
Thank you to my beta for being all nice and encouraging, Egyptian1995. You be awesome. ****  
**

**Hope you all enjoy this angst free chapter! ^_^  
**

**(If not, tell me. And if you want to leave me praise, I won't stop you. :D)  
**

Mycroft didn't insist on accompanying him back to school. Sherlock wanted to take it as some sort of acknowledgement of wrong-doing, but it was for more likely that he was just busy planning a future international conflict. It had made leaving considerably easier nonetheless, minimising the contact he was forced to have with his family to one short goodbye.

The transition back into school life was surprisingly smooth, though the workload had become suddenly unforgiving. The reality of university creeping up on them had struck fear in the students and teachers alike, resulting in an unholy amount of tests and coursework. Sherlock unsurprisingly found it dull and, when he eventually got round to actually doing the work, unchallenging as ever. He'd said as much to John one evening, when a break in the stream of essays had left them with time alone, and had very nearly got punched for the comment.

Other than threats of physical violence, they were getting along smoothly. All past arguments seemed to be settled, if not entirely forgiven and both found themselves desperately trying to find moments when they could spend time together.

* * *

"This is ridiculous, Sherlock."

"I offered to come up to your room." He shrugged dismissively, standing back to let the shorter and significantly more irritated boy in.

"Oh yes, fantastic idea. I'm sure my roommate wouldn't question you sneaking in at three a.m." John rolled his eyes, "I refuse to creep around the hallways at night again in pyjamas."

He sat down in an armchair and folded his arms, huffing though obviously not really annoyed.

"You could have changed." Sherlock pointed out amusedly, switching on another lamp in a hopeful but vain attempt to brighten the dim room.

John looked at him with a forcedly blank expression, though a smile was clearly tugging at his mouth,

"That was not a very helpful thing to say."

The other nodded gravely,

"I'm sorry, I should have told you before you left your room. It's just, I didn't really expect to have to remind you to get dressed."

He stayed silent for a moment before bursting out into an mock-offended laugh, throwing a cushion half-heartedly at the taller.

Sherlock smoothly ducked below the flying pillow as he stepped forwards and sank into the other armchair, facing the window.

"You're supposed to be a healer, violence should be against your moral code, doctor."

"Not a bloody doctor yet." John grumbled, sinking down in the chair, he paused for a moment before looking to Sherlock, "Speaking of careers, have you actually decided what you're going to do?"

He shrugged indifferently,

"I don't know. Something interesting."

"You could go into the police." He suggested.

Sherlock gave him a scathing look,

"I said interesting. I do not want to spend my time chasing up cases of missing cats."

John rolled his eyes,

"I'm not sure that's actually what police do, but I take your point. You could do what your brother does, whatever that actually is."

"There is not enough money in the world." He replied lightly as he flicked idly through a book.

"Probably better for national security you don't spend too much time around him anyway." John conceded, glancing out of the window at the rain, "So you basically want to be a policeman that only does the interesting bits."

"Obviously." He absent-mindedly replied.

"Couldn't your bro- never mind, I won't finish that sentence."

Sherlock gave the ghost of a smile,

"Probably wise."

* * *

As John crept back to his room, hoping to god that there weren't any teachers about, a thought occurred to him. It was quite likely if Sherlock was so inclined he could probably live off the accumulated wealth of his family. He chuckled quietly, the other would never ask for money, but if he could trick it out of them then he probably would. As the amusement wore off, the reality of the slowly dawned on him. Sherlock really did have no plans for the future, no idea of what he really wanted to do, how on earth was he going to function in the real world? People wouldn't be obliged to humour him as much as they were at the school. John was practical, he had an acute understanding of what he needed to do to get by, his plans were reasonably extensive and definitely well thought through. Sherlock's plans seemed to be basically to do whatever took his fancy. Sighing, John carefully pushed his door open and slipped into the room.

"You look tired." Someone helpfully commented as John plonked down on a chair in the dining hall, taking his customary seat with his usual group of friends, significantly nicer ones than the first lot.

"I was up all night, thank you for pointing that out Alex." He replied groggily, throwing Sherlock an annoyed glance, who pretended not to see and continued to actively ignore his breakfast.

"How come?" The same hugely helpful male asked, interested watching the silent exchange.

John shrugged flippantly,

"Oh you know, just doing this and that."

It took him a few moments to realise that Alex was giving him and Sherlock scrutinising looks, clearly more curious than John was really comfortable with.

"Essays!" He quickly exclaimed, drawing a few glances from other tables, "I was doing essays."

The boy was clearly not convinced.

"We don't have any due for over a month."

"Just…getting a head start." He replied helplessly gazing down at his bowl of cornflakes as if they might provide him with a more convincing lie.

* * *

"Good cover." Sherlock murmured blandly as they shuffled unwillingly towards English.

"Well, you could have helped me." John replied sulkily as he dug through his bag for a book he was almost certain he forgot.

The other gave a shake of his head,

"Why, would it bother you?"

"What?" He asked distractedly, still rummaging through the bag.

Sherlock grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the others to the side,

"If someone knew."

John stood silently for a moment.

"I suppose not."

Seeing that Sherlock was clearly expected more of an answer than that, he continued,

"I mean…there are some people in this school that probably shouldn't know. But I guess, well I don't see why some people couldn't." He trailed of awkwardly, feeling self-conscious under Sherlock's critical gaze.

"Good." He replied softly, smiling and dragging John back into the throng of students.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Hello everyone, here's a nice new chapter. And it didn't even take me several weeks…**

**Ahh, the end is nearly upon us, it might actually even be next chapter depending on how the writing pans out, we shall see!**

**Thank you readers, for justifying my odd choice of pastime xD Thank you to Egyptian1995, for being awesome and patient as ever :3 And reviewers, you make my day, genuinely. **

**Also, a special thank you for not giving up on me for being a slow updater ^^;**

Exam season was well and truly upon them, everywhere they went there were students desperately trying to make up for a years' worth of not studying. It was the time of year that always made John feel slightly smug, being one of the few students that managed to strike a balance between work and friends. Sherlock felt smug, but that wasn't really anything new.

The library, once a refuge for hushed conversations, was overflowing to the point where students were abandoning the hopes of finding seats and littering the floor. John picked his way haphazardly through the masses, stumbling towards a crowded table in the corner of the room. He only really knew about half the people on the table, but desperate times had forced social groups to collide.

A few people looked up and gave chirpy greetings, the rest murmuring hello dully from the depths of textbooks.

He chuckled and sat down on the chair that had been kindly saved for him, idly flicking through his notes. The panic would most likely start in a week or so, but until then he felt relatively prepared.

"You don't have to look so bloody pleased with yourself." A boy commented, letting his head drop onto the notebook in front of him despairingly.

"Not my fault you did no work all year." John replied, throwing a set of notes at him.

"Adam doesn't do work, it's a miracle he's made it through school." Alex commented from besides him, comfortingly patting the miserable other on his head.

"You could have warned me!" Adam whined, turning to pout at him.

"I've been warning you for six years, you don't listen." He replied affectionately.

John watched interestedly as the taller ran hand through Adam's hair soothingly, completely forgetting he was staring. Up until Alex sent him a defensive look that is,

"What?"

"What?" John dumbly echoed, completely caught off-guard.

"You're staring." He replied warily.

John resisted the urge to smile and shrugged nonchalantly,

"Sorry, just drifting off."

Clearly trying to look casual he nodded and asked,

"Do you mind?"

They stared blankly at each other for a moment before Adam waved a hand at Alex, who had buried his head in the pages either out of embarrassment or fear.

"Makes no difference to me." John shrugged again, flicking a little too casually through his textbook.

There was a moment of silence, broken by his sudden question,

"Where's Sherlock?"

John was fairly sure he could hear implication and suspicion in that question, but he chose to ignore it,

"No idea, around somewhere."

"You don't know?"

"Why would I?"

He definitely wasn't imagining the amused look the other gave him,

"You usually know."

John glared over his textbook,

"Oh shut up."

* * *

"Where were you yesterday?" John asked curiously, flopping down inelegantly onto Sherlock's bed, the taller slipping into an armchair.

"Around." He replied monotonously, "Where were you?"

"In the library, don't pretend that you didn't know already." He replied, "Hey, did you know Alex and Adam were together?"

"Yes, didn't you?" Sherlock said, genuinely sounding surprised.

"How could I possibly know that? Don't reply, I didn't really want you to answer that."

"Don't ask then." He said flatly.

John sat up enough to glare at him before continuing,

"They could have said something."

"You haven't said anything to them." Sherlock pointed out.

John shrugged evasively, letting the conversation lapse into silence.

"What were you doing?"

"Don't tell me you can't entertain yourself for one day." He drawled, poking at plant perched on his windowsill.

"I managed," He replied irritably, "I just wondered."

"I was busy getting disinherited." Sherlock replied.

John felt his irritation drain away as he stared at the other, hoping he would say it was some kind of badly thought through joke.

"Mycroft made a trip up to tell me about it specially." Sherlock added, as if that was the part that annoyed him the most, which was entirely possible.

John looked blankly at the ceiling, trying to think of something even vaguely useful to say,

"What's going to happen then?"

"Nothing much," He shrugged, "When they die I won't get anything, oh and I'm no longer welcome in the family home but frankly that's a relief."

"Where are you going to live?" John asked, struck by how casually they were discussing the matter.

Sherlock pulled a displeased face, dropping the book he was flicking through,

"Mycroft's insisted on finding me a flat."

John chuckled quietly at the stubbornness of the male, that he'd rather find himself homeless than get help from his own brother.

"So, you're not homeless, you've just got no money."

"I have Mycroft's money." He replied.

"You took his money?" John asked in mock shock.

Sherlock smiled, though he seemed mildly annoyed,

"I don't have much of a choice."

He nodded,

"Well, you can think of it as a sort of revenge. Only on his bank balance instead of his actual self." John pointed out with a grin.

"I think his bank balance can probably take the hit." Sherlock replied disappointedly.

Exams, he decided, were more or less no matter how well you prepared. John was a reasonably calm, steady sort of person, but even he was panicking slightly at the thought of walking into an exam hall and deciding how his future would be. It didn't really seem fair.

He glanced to Sherlock, who seemed frustratingly calm about the whole affair.

"You could have the good grace to panic, even just a little bit." John said as they stood outside the main entrance, waiting to be let in.

"Why would I do that?" He replied, looking down at the other with sincere confusion.

John resisted the urge to hit him,

"Never mind, you have absolutely no reason to panic, it's not like you could possibly fail."

"Fail? John, there is no way you're going to fail, you're actually prepared for this." Sherlock replied calmingly.

"What if there's something on the test that I haven't learnt? How can you know I'll pass?" John replied stubbornly.

"I know everything important, remember?" He replied, smiling at the shorter, "Although actually, if you panic you might fail."

"Sherlock! Not helping!"


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Oh god, I'm so sorry. That's all I can say, seriously, I have no amazing excuse. This has taken me so long I feel like I should have written a bloody book by now. **

**Well, here it is guys, the last chapter. There may be a sequel one day, but I feel like it'd be hugely irresponsible to make any promises. Thank you so much to everyone who's read it, I honestly appreciate it more than you could ever know.**

Sherlock sat overlooking the school grounds from his perch on the roof, an unseasonal chill giving the vast fields an unsettling quality. He'd watched as mist ghosted over the frosty grass in the still air and slowly dissipated. He'd lost track of how long he'd been there, not sure whether he was dealing with the unpleasant reality of moving on or running away from it. It wasn't like he had a strong emotional attachment to the place, or most of the people in it. Besides, he had reasonable confidence that university would be a less painful experience than school had been. Yet all the same he found himself fighting the urge to run away.

He jumped, awkwardly hanging onto the ledge, as someone opening the hatch to the roof. Sherlock gave a vague nod of the head as John pulled himself up, sitting next to him.

"How did you know where I was?" He asked distractedly.

"You're predictable." John smiled knowingly, laughing when Sherlock gave him an affronted look.

They sat in silence for a moment, gazing out at the fields, though one looked on with significantly more affection.

"You are in a way though, it's almost the last day, which means everyone's getting emotional, which means you're going to run away where no one can find you."

"I'm not running away." Sherlock replied, though somewhat lacking conviction.

"No, just observing the behavioural patterns of rugby fields." He teased.

"I don't like this school, I don't like the teachers and I don't like most of the people." He replied slowly, as if struggling to find the words.

"But it has been a home, of sorts, for the past seven years." John shrugged, "It's ok to be nervous, or nostalgic."

Sherlock gave him an odd look, which John returned self-consciously.

"I'm not nervous, and I am not going to miss this place." He waited for a moment for John to catch up, but upon receiving a blank expression continued, "I know we weren't exactly open with everyone but, well it's safe here, to an extent. People can judge but that's more or less all they can do. The rest of the world isn't that forgiving."

"You don't really have to worry about your safety, you have Mycroft watching over you." John pointed out.

Sherlock scowled,

"I wouldn't be worried if he wasn't. I'm not concerned about my safety, John."

He shrugged uncomfortably, fiddling with the hem of his top,

"I'll be fine, besides, the world is actually quite a nice place."

"No it's not." He replied automatically, sighing softly, "Do you have to be so optimistic?"

John nodded amusedly,

"Well someone has to and you're clearly not fulfilling that role. I'm honestly not being overly optimistic, Sherlock. I have lived in the real world, it's really not that bad."

He gave a noncommittal nod of his head,

"You're probably being watched over too anyway."

"I really wish I was surprised, but I can't say I am." John replied jovially.

"You've been around me too long." Sherlock chuckled dryly.

"Not long enough." He replied quietly.

Sherlock paused for a moment, glancing at the shorter with a mix of fondness and melancholy.

"I didn't know you were planning on leaving."

John half-heartedly hit his arm,

"That's not what I meant. It's just, it seems like we finally got stuff sorted out, and we're leaving. We're going to be in different cities."

"But not actually far away." He pointed out, "Besides, I was planning on visiting you."

"Regularly?"

"You'll get sick of me. More than usual."

John smiled,

"I'm going to go find the others."

Sherlock nodded, grabbing John's hand as he turned to leave,

"Thank you, by the way."

He smiled again, nodding,

"Any time."

* * *

John wandered slowly down the hallway, tracing the edge of the wood panels as he went. He surprised himself with how sad he actually felt; now it was coming to leaving. After all, he'd only been there for a year. He gave a quiet chuckle, it felt as if it had been years. Yet he could still recall his first day in crystal clarity, being thrown headfirst into a world so different to his own. And then there was Sherlock, storming into his life in a ridiculous cloud of self-imposed isolation. He stopped to peer out of a window, watching the students flitting about outside the building as they prepared to leave. The last time they would all be together. John sighed deeply, despite the affection he had for the school he couldn't help but think of his old friends. He hadn't spoken to most of them at all since changing schools; he doubted any of them would want anything to do with him now anyway. He slipped onto the windowsill, fingers ghosting over the damaged wood, abused by generations of boys. Everybody changes, he knew that, and mostly for the better. Everyone had to move on and grow up, become responsible adults. The concept had never particularly bothered him before, but faced with the reality of it he suddenly felt hugely incapable. How did anyone ever know that they were ready?

* * *

John gazed up at the intimidating front face of the school as they stood outside by the impressive driveway.

"Scared?" Sherlock asked softly, slipping his hand into John's.

"Terrified," He replied honestly, "But that's normal, isn't it? I mean, normal for normal people. Not you obviously."

"I believe it is normal, yes." He smiled at the shorter amusedly, "You'd better come visit."

John shrugged mockingly,

"Oh I don't know, I thought I might leave you to Mycroft, let him drive you insane all summer."

"That is a truly horrifying prospect, thank you John." Sherlock nodded with a traumatised expression.

"I'll be down as soon as I can without it being ridiculously suspicious." He laughed.

"Not soon enough then." He sighed, "I suppose I will miss this school in a manner of speaking. It was very convenient as far as living arrangements go."

"Stop being so melodramatic, things could be worse."

"Things have certainly been a lot worse this year." Sherlock replied.

"They most definitely have."

John gave a humourless laugh, turning around at the sound of a car pulling up the driveway. He slipped his hand from Sherlock's quickly.

"That's my Dad." He nodded vaguely to the car, watching it approach with a suddenly sombre expression, "So this is it."

"I suppose it is,"Sherlock smiled softly, turning to head back into the building. "Goodbye John."


End file.
